Of Bikers and Butterflies
by ficlit78
Summary: COMPLETE! Post Red Scare. Rigsby's past comes back to haunt him.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Moving slightly off script here. Post Red Scare. I toil in the realm of fanfic, my scripts sent to Bruno Heller go unanswered. Hence, I own nothing. This goes out to Ses, with whom I freebase Mentalist and Oreos. Ses, this one's for you.

**Chapter One**

The phone rang exactly twice before she saw Rigsby pick it up. "CBI, this is Rigsby." Holding the phone to his ear, he winked at her.

Grace smiled to herself and looked back at her computer. She couldn't help herself. Every time his phone rang, she looked over and listened to him answer it. She had no idea why. They'd known each other for over a year now, she must have heard him answer his phone a hundred times, and yet now that they'd been dating for a few weeks now, she felt like she needed to see and hear everything he did with new eyes. A girlfriend's eyes. She smiled again at the thought, keeping her eyes on the screen and not letting them wander over to him again. _His girlfriend. My boyfriend_. She wondered if he did the same, watching her do everyday tasks with new interest. Or had his fascination with her ever waned?

Knowing him, probably not.

For the past year, she'd felt him watch her with more interest than was seemly for a partner, or even a friend. On the more intense days, that interest graduated into full-fledged longing. She'd felt it radiating from him. The field seemed to bring it out in him the most. She'd be walking in front of him, or leaning over a piece of evidence, and she'd turn and find him staring openly. Longingly. At first, it irritated her. Just another jerk checking out her ass when she wasn't looking. Then it just discomforted her. He wasn't a jerk, she learned over time, but his appraisal was still inappropriate. She appreciated it, but didn't want to be known as the chick that Rigsby was crushing all over. She worried about her budding reputation. She couldn't afford to even entertain his interest. Even smiling at him could be seen by others. Misinterpreted by others. She knew only too well that her fall from a promising agent to a mens' room joke could be clocked with an egg timer if she wasn't vigilant. She'd seen it happen with more careless lady cops. She would not join their ranks_. Never._

She snorted softly. Well, it looked like never lasted exactly 14 months. Pathetic, really. She'd been so busy reinforcing herself in the event of macho come-ons that she forgot to plan against sweet, earnest affection. She'd braced her heart's walls for a battering ram. She didn't plan for a barrage of arrows over the top. Gold tipped arrows. They flew over her walls like birds before zeroing in on her. She'd evaded as best she could, but Cupid never missed. She was struck. Hard. And now? She loved Wayne with an almost frightening intensity. As a result, everything he did was worthy of close study. So. She listened to his voice as she worked.

When he spoke again, her interest morphed instantly to concern. "Who is this?"

Silence for a moment. Grace looked up from her computer. Rigsby was gripping the handset. His face, always so good-natured, had turned flinty. His eyes had gone dead. He worked his jaw. His neck muscles flared. Grace swallowed at a visage she'd never seen before. Wayne was enraged.

"I don't give a _fuck_," he hissed quietly into the phone. Grace flinched at his words. "Don't call here again." He slammed the phone down so hard that she was sure she heard the plastic crack. He stared at the phone, breathing hard through his nose. His jaws were locked together. Grace was almost afraid to speak.

"Wayne?" She kept her voice low and soft. They were the only ones in the bullpen. Cho, Jane and Lisbon were out on a case. They'd been left behind to catch up on paperwork and answer phones. She risked giving him a worried look.

He looked up at his name. He seemed surprised to see her, like he'd forgotten she was there in the 15 seconds between his wink and breaking the phone. He tried to soften his eyes. He tried to crack his mouth into a smile. He tried, but flint doesn't soften easily.

"Who was that?"

He shook his head quickly. "No one."

She lifted her head higher, signaling her dislike at being lied to. "Wayne."

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it," his terse response was clipped and dismissive. Grace didn't like it. Not one little bit. He lowered his head to his desk, making it clear that the conversation was over and he was going back to his paperwork.

Grace glanced at the clock. It was 11:39. She looked back at him, his shoulders hunched angrily as he bent over his work. His eyes were glued to his desk. She didn't think he'd respond to talking again, so she opened up an email message instead. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering over the keys. Should she push? Should she insist? She shook her head softly. No. With Wayne, there was only one sure-fire way she could reach him. She entreated.

_Please talk to me. Tell me what's wrong. Lunch? 12:30? _

_Grace_

She reread it six times. Add more? Less? Screw it. She hit send.

She kept her eyes on her computer, trying to get back into the research project Lisbon had given her as she impatiently waited for his answer. Her heart jumped when she heard the faint ping from his monitor, telling him he had mail. He swiveled in his chair to his screen and clicked on the mail icon. He paused as he read.

Grace swallowed and kept typing. She tried like hell to watch him out of her peripherals. She breathed with relief when he started typing. He went back to his file and she waited with more impatience for his answer.

_Ping!_

She opened the icon.

_I'm fine. Honest. But lunch sounds nice. How about the Greek place you like? _

_Wayne_

_P.S. I love seeing your name pop up on my screen. _

She couldn't help her smile. As much as she didn't like him hiding behind the Façade of Fine (as her mother called it), her heart fluttered at his postscript. Even furious, he was the sweetest man alive. She went back to work feeling better. Whatever had just happened, she would try her best to get it out of him. She was his girlfriend, after all. They were supposed to share their lives with each other. She felt a small thrill at the thought.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They walked out together, keeping a professional eight inches between them as they wandered down the street towards the gyro stand. Rigsby seemed happy to just walk in silence, but Grace felt agitated. Who could have possibly infuriated him in three seconds flat? Who would Wayne ever swear at and hang up on? Being a gentle soul, it took a lot to annoy him, never mind anger him. It was as bizarre as his sudden taciturn silence. He _always _talked to her, about anything he could think of. Now he was a damn sphinx. Silent, except for the riddle of who called. Irritating.

Grace took action.

Looking around furtively, she pulled him by the hand into a small side street, leaned into his chest and captured his lips. He stiffened in surprise, but quickly responded, deepening their kiss and wrapping his arms around her. She moaned softly into his mouth, happy to feel him reciprocate. His tongue slid into her mouth and she shocked him sucking on it gently. Knowing how much it turned him on, she usually reserved that move for private places where he could react without fear of public indecency. He growled quietly and she giggled. She pulled back, but not before brushing her lips teasingly over his as they broke away.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hey," he smiled gently back.

She burrowed her face against his shirt and hugged him around his back. "I hate seeing you unhappy. Please tell me what happened. Who called you?"

She felt him stiffen in her arms. She couldn't bear it if he tried to pull away. "Please?" She looked up with worried sadness shining through her eyes. "Please."

Rigsby crumbled at her expression. She knew that seeing her sad killed him. It was even worse knowing he was the cause of it. And she said please. She had a way of making it sound so fragile. So tenuous. He felt like a spectacular butterfly alighted in his hands when she gave him a please. It was beautiful, easily bruised, not long for this world. A callous remark, a refusal, would crush it. Only a monster would knowingly do such a thing. A few nights ago while cuddling on his couch, he'd told her that he was powerless against her when she said please.

He'd never crushed a butterfly. He wouldn't crush this one either. He hugged her tightly against him.

"It was my dad," he sighed. The tension flooded out of his body. Grace felt him go slack in her arms.

"Your dad?" she squinted up at him, cocking her head to one side. She didn't understand. He'd never mentioned his parents before. Their relationship was so new, they hadn't really talked about their families yet. She waited for him to elaborate.

He sighed heavily. It was the precursor to a long, long story. He took her hand and led her back to the main street.

"Let me buy you lunch, sweetie. Then I need to tell you something."

She nodded silently and let him lead the way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

They sat on a bench outside with their food. Grace convinced him to try falafel. He didn't like the sound of a meatless Greek sandwich, but instantly converted when he found out that falafel was fried and you could drown it in as many condiments possible. Even pickles. This made him happy.

They sat their drinks on the ground by their feet and sat back to watch the world go by as they ate. Rigsby looked over and gave her a wistful smile. "I wanted to hold you when I finally told you this. I hate that I can't touch you here."

Grace wiggled her fingers surreptitiously at him from the bench. "You can have my hand at any time. Just reach."

He nodded and turned back to the green expanse in front of them.

"God, I don't even know where to start," he began quietly. She chewed without tasting. Waiting. He ripped into his own wrap and chewed while thinking. He swallowed, inhaled, and spoke.

"I was born in some derelict hotel room off Highway 395 somewhere outside of Reno. On my driver's license, my birthday reads July 14, 1978. I know the month is right, but the actual day is anyone's guess. I just chose the 14th because I liked the sound of it." He paused and breathed in slowly. Grace had stopped chewing, her food completely forgotten. He kept his thousand-yard stare and continued.

"My parents are bikers, Grace. The really, really bad kind. And actually, I should really only say that my dad's a biker. My mom is what they delightfully refer to as a biker groupie. She was young. She could ride. And she was infatuated with the Outlaws, my dad's gang. They're the main rivals of the Hell's Angels." He snorted angrily to himself. "I have the honor of being the son of one of California's Ten Most Wanted." He tore off another bite, chewing hard.

"I…growing up I…" Rigsby looked down at the space of bench between them. Grace instantly put her hand in the space. He exhaled shakily and put his own hand over hers. He took another unsteady breath. Grace flipped her hand underneath his and squeezed. He dropped his head and nodded. She was there for him.

"I rode, Grace. Most of my childhood was spent in a sling on my mother's chest or strapped in front of someone's seat. I think…I think in some sick way they thought it was cute. Not at first. I know my dad was furious at my mom for getting pregnant in the first place. He would have left her behind, but she kept finding them, riding with them every single day, even the day she gave birth. But eventually, the gang got used to me. I became their mascot. A little man in a leather jacket, helmet, everything. As long as I was quiet and didn't cause trouble, they allowed my mom and me to keep riding with them."

Grace squeezed his hand again and murmured softly. She looked around quickly before sliding a few inches closer to him. She brought her other hand around and stroked his forearm. "You're right. I wish we were holding each other."

He turned and smiled sadly at her. "Am I freaking you out with this? I can stop, if you want."

She shook her head hard and leaned over, quickly pecking his cheek. "This is you. I want to know anything you'll tell me."

He sighed softly. "I didn't go to school, not for many years. My mom…God, there's so much I could say about my mom. She wasn't really a mother, she just happened to have me as she whored herself to my dad. She did anything he said. When he told her to shut me up when I was crying, she'd take me into the woods with a blanket and told to sit away from everyone else so they didn't have to hear me. It was cold. It was scary. I'd stop crying because I thought monsters would jump out of the forest and get me. I…I hate the woods." His head dropped sharply, his eyes closed against the memories. Grace was furious with herself for making him tell her this now. She couldn't comfort him like she wanted to. She wanted to drag him into her arms, stroke his hair and whisper that everything was okay. She couldn't now. She would tonight.

"I learned various things from other gang members. Mostly mechanic stuff. But one guy taught me how to read. Another taught me math. Mostly, I just learned to be quiet. They punished me when I cried. They punished me when I threw tantrums. When I was six or seven, I cried that I didn't want to ride on a bike anymore. It hurt my legs and my back. I had to stay still for hours. The leather I had to wear was so hot. I didn't want to. I screamed my head off and fought my mom as she tried to put my jacket on me. My dad, he--," Rigsby broke off and choked quietly on a sob.

Fuck it. Grace closed those last few inches on the bench and hugged him hard. He turned into her and gripped her, burying his face into the crook of her neck and releasing a jagged moan against her skin. She cradled his head in her hands and put her lips to his ear. "I've got you. It's okay. Sshhhhhh, don't cry baby. Everything's all right." She pulled his head back so she could look into his eyes. She smiled softly at them. "I love you so much. No one can hurt you now. Shhhhh," she ran her thumbs under his eyes, wiping his tears away. He sniffed and lowered his head in her hands.

"I love you," he echoed. He wasn't telling her his feelings, just repeating her words. He looked up again. "I never heard that as a kid," he whispered softly. Tears welled up in Grace's eyes as well. Every child should be told that they're loved everyday, but Wayne? What bastards could rear this man and not love him? Not hug him just as she was hugging him? Not look into his sweet blue eyes and see an angel? She lowered her own head to hide her tears. "Poor baby," she whispered.

He tried to calm his breathing. He needed to finish. "He beat me. He's my height. He wore rings. He fought rivals all the time. He felt no pity. He brought all of that to the table. My arm, my ribs, my leg, my shoulder, he broke them all. I was so little, I couldn't protect myself. After that day, I didn't speak for two years."

Grace continued to stroke his face. She leaned forward and kissed him softly. She tasted the salt of his tears on his lips. He trembled against her mouth. He spoke softly against it. "I learned to be quiet."

"Come on," Grace gently urged him to his feet. He stood up limply, allowing her to lead him away from the bench, away from prying eyes. She walked him back to the CBI building, but instead of going into the office, she led him to the parking lot where their SUV was parked. She pushed the unlock button and opened the back door, climbing inside, pulling him with her.

He sniffed again and chuckled weakly as he settled in beside her and shut the door. "Taking advantage of my vulnerable state?"

She ignored his joke and straddled his lap, pressing her chest flush into his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. "In here, I can hold you like I want to," she whispered.

He nodded and wrapped his arms around her, shuddering hard. He hooked his chin over her shoulder as his hands moved restlessly over her back. "I'm so sorry, Grace. This…it's just so ugly. I never wanted you to know about it, really. I knew I'd have to tell you eventually, but…I hate my story. I hate that part of me."

Grace pulled back and looked him in the eye. She framed his face in her hands. "I love you. You're the best man I've ever known and I love you. Your story was a circumstance. It doesn't define you, and it sure as hell isn't who you are. You're a kind soul and an excellent cop. We're all judged by our actions. And babe?" She smiled softly. "You stack up better than most."

He gave her a small, embarrassed smile. She leaned forward and kissed him. She instantly deepened it, wanting him to feel her love and acceptance of who he was, everything he was. His lips moved gently against hers, still too emotional to equal her passion. She understood. She could be the strong one for the time being. She broke their kiss and brushed his nose with hers. "So why is he calling you now? What does he want?"

Rigsby hugged her tightly, shuddering again. "He's been arrested."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

She held him in their SUV for 20 minutes before their lunch hour ended and they were forced to go back to their desks. He was going to say more, but she shushed him and kissed him softly, murmuring that he could tell her later. Right then, all she wanted to do was comfort him, make him feel better before heading back into the bullpen for another four hours. The last thing she wanted to endure was him sniffing quietly at his desk when she had no power to console him. Better to soothe him as best she could instead of pressing for more information. Later.

Later.

It seemed to work. They went back to the bullpen and continued their hideously boring paperwork until 5:30 finally dragged its lazy ass onto the clock. Wordlessly, Grace packed up. Wordlessly, she willed him to do the same. He caught her glance and nodded, shutting down his computer and grabbing his coat.

As Grace made her way alone to her car (they never drove in or out together), she couldn't decide what she wanted more. Or what he needed more. She wanted to smother him in hugs and cuddles. She was pretty sure he was in for that one. She wanted to throw him in their bed and make desperate love to him, banishing his fear and sadness with mind-blowing sex. She was less sure how up for that he'd be. She wanted to sit him down on the couch and make him tell her every last detail of his past. She was certain that one would cause _both _of them acute pain. She muttered in frustration as she pulled into her apartment parking lot. She killed the engine and ran her fingers distractedly through her hair.

Before today, she'd never had any inking of anything remotely traumatic in Wayne's life. He was such a calm, unassuming person. He certainly didn't act damaged. She felt a small smile of pride tug at her lips. It took a lot to break her man. But her mouth instantly settled into a frown again as she relived his story in her head.

_I rode, Grace._

Dear God, how could that be? How could a child grow up without schooling? Without other children? Without real parenting? How did he break away? How did he do so well in college? In life? In love? She remembered every single adoring gaze he'd ever cast her way. How did he love so wholeheartedly, knowing full well it may never be reciprocated? She didn't understand. Before Wayne, her own heart had been an exacting, calculating organ, never giving an ounce without receiving an ounce in kind. It was an insurance policy that she and most people took out. Nothing of value is given without collateral. Like buying cars and homes and pleasure boats, people only pay out on their love if they're paid back.

But not Wayne.

Her chest ached with awe. He loved the way people were _supposed_ to love. It was selfless. It was unflappable. It wasn't created or altered based on the other person's feelings. It had no vanity. And it didn't keep score. It was naked. He felt it reverently. He offered it humbly.

She supposed it made sense. Instead of wondering how his emotions could evolve so purely, perhaps she should consider if they'd ever changed. After all, he'd been a lonely child. A sad and frightened child. Wouldn't such a boy always love unrequitedly? No doubt he had loved his mother, despite her despicable neglect of him. And living such a transient life, surely he had loved certain little towns, dogs he met, kindly strangers and candy stores that were invariably left behind as the gang drove off to the next squalid destination. But those small nuggets of goodness must have stayed with him. They must have imprinted, given him hope, given him warmth when he needed it most. Like when he was left alone in the woods at night. Like when he was beaten by the people who should have loved him most. Like when he became mute. She closed her eyes against this new insight.

His love had always been solitary.

Headlights flooded her rearview mirror and she squinted against the glare. Wayne was pulling into her lot. She jumped out of her car and ran to him. He'd barely slammed his door shut before he was thrown up against it, Grace colliding into him and throwing her arms around him. She sandwiched him between herself and the car before kissing him breathless. They were hard, desperate presses of her lips as she mewled her anguish and her anger and her feral love into his mouth. He caught her and held onto her tightly, returning her kisses, returning her urgency.

She cupped his throat and pulled back. " 'I love you' doesn't even begin to cover it, sweetie," she whispered.

He smiled wanly and leaned down for another kiss. A smaller kiss. "I was agonizing all the way over here. I was afraid you'd change your mind and decide I was a lost cause."

She shook her head and pushed herself harder into him, trying to occupy the same space. "Tell me what you need, Wayne. Comfort? Food? Booze? Bed? All of the above? Just tell me and it's yours."

His smile didn't waver as he gently ran his hand through her hair. "From you? All I need are kisses like that and hearing that you love me." He planted a kiss on her forehead. "They mean everything."

She chuckled softly. "Done. But you're still getting dinner and hugs. Call them options on the basic kisses/love package."

"Throw in power windows and a sun roof and you got yourself a deal."

She giggled and stepped back, offering her hand. "You drive a hard bargain, my friend."

He took it and she pulled him toward her door. "Okay, so we're stripping to our underwear and cuddling on the couch until the pizza gets here. Then we're watching really bad tv until it's time for bed."

He laughed and hugged her from behind as she unlocked her door and pushed it open. "The pizza guy is in for a shock then. Seeing you in your underwear, then getting killed for seeing you in your underwear. Maybe I should just keep my suit on until the poor sap gives me the food." He lifted her up over the threshold and Grace squealed as her feet lost the floor. He put burrowed his nose in her hair. "You, however," he growled softly. "can strip now, if you want."

"How very noble of you," she teased, gripping his forearm around her waist and trying to wiggle free. He set her down gently and held her to him with more sincerity.

"Grace," he whispered softly. "I adore you for comforting me, but I need to tell you the rest."

Grace sighed softly and pushed further into his arms, her back pressed into the warmth of his chest. "Only if you're ready, baby." She turned and wrapped her arms around him tightly. "God, I hate this," she murmured. "I want to know everything, but I also want to wipe the whole thing from both our memories." She looked up and ran her fingers over his cheeks. "I want your past to be filled with hugs and fireplaces and birthday parties and embarrassing teenage photos."

Rigsby captured her hand and kissed her fingertips. "Don't say that."

"Why not?"

He pulled her harder against him. "My past led me to you."

Grace blushed and snorted. "Smooth talker."

His earnest expression didn't change. "Every single second was worth it. I left that life. I grew up. I went to college and became a cop. And one day a stunning woman walked into my unit and stopped my heart. The day I met you was the single greatest day in my life," he smiled shyly. "Until the day you kissed me."

Grace blushed harder and buried her face in his shirt, hiding from his eyes, feeling utterly unworthy of such sentiment. She felt his hands stroking her back and started rubbing his as well. He continued. She listened with equal amounts of longing and bashfulness.

"A past full of fireplaces and birthday parties would have taken me somewhere else, Grace. At this very moment, I'd be coming home from a job at a bank or an advertising agency. I'd probably drink mojitos, wear cufflinks and never realize I lost the perfect woman."

"Hush." She shook her head against him. "You would have been happy. You would have had a family that supported you. And girls would flock to you no matter what life you chose. I am _not_ a good enough consolation prize for an abusive childhood, Wanye. No one is."

He cupped her cheeks and pushed her back so he could look her in the eye. "Bullshit," he grunted softly. "I dreamed of you my whole life. I would have endured a lot worse if I'd known you were on the other side of it."

Tears threatened to prick her eyes. Her modesty was taking a serious beating as his words elated and humbled her in turn. "I dreamed of you too," she whispered. She looked down and smiled, wiping her tears and shooing away his hands.

"All right. I'll call in the pizza. You can tell me the rest."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I didn't talk for two years. I just…just stopped. I didn't fight against riding anymore. I didn't cry. I just sat quietly on the bike, around the campfire, on park benches. I didn't make a sound. Sarah, my mom, she freaked out at first. She thought my dad had somehow beaten my voice right out of me. She pleaded with me, then cried, then bribed, then threatened. Anything she could think of to get me to talk. Pretty soon the gang was yelling at _her _to shut up instead of me. She was terrified they'd throw us out, so she stopped trying. As a compromise, she asked me if I _could _talk. I didn't have to, I just had to let her know that I was still capable. I nodded my head. She finally gave in and didn't ask me again. For two years, I just used simple sign language. I nodded or shook my head. I pointed. I wrote on pieces of paper. I went everywhere and did what I was told without question. Certain gang members liked me better for it. Others…" Wayne paused, pulling Grace tighter against him and snuggling deeper into her couch. She laid out more fully on top of him, burrowing her head into his throat. An empty pizza box and half-dead bottle of wine sat on the coffee table. Grace had insisted they eat before he began again. As the food and wine made them warm and drowsy, they'd slid further onto the couch until they lay wrapped up in each other. If it weren't for the subject matter, she would have been in seventh Heaven.

"Others?" she prodded.

He pulled a deep breath, lifting her slightly as his chest inflated. "Not everyone approved of my dad's treatment of me or my mom. There was an older member, Joe Erickson, a grizzled soldier of the biker life, who didn't think violence should extend to women and children. I don't know how many people he'd fought or even killed in his life, but when dad beat me up, Joe called an ambulance and took me to the hospital. It was horrible. The cops showed up and wanted to arrest him for child abuse. I think he would have stabbed his way out of it, but I told the police it wasn't Joe who had hurt me. They asked me who did, and that's when I stopped talking. The doctors patched me up and kept me for a few days. Joe stayed with me. To this day, I don't know why. He sat in a chair and read magazines, didn't try to talk to me, didn't try to leave. When they gave the all clear, he made a few calls and located where the gang had moved off to. I rode with him for three days until we found them."

"Your dad, what's his name?" Grace asked as she aimlessly drew circles on his chest.

"Wayne Delacroix. They call him Cross."

"Not Rigsby?"

Rigsby snorted. "He never married my mother. Her last name was Buchanan. When I left, I changed my name. Delacroix and Buchanan aren't that common and I didn't want anyone figuring out who I was."

She smiled softly against him. "But you kept Wayne?"

Another deep intake of breath. "I wasn't going to, not at first. I wanted everything about me to just disappear. To totally rebrand. It wouldn't have been hard, either. I didn't have a birth certificate, social security number, anything. I started from scratch. But when I got to the Records Bureau, I just couldn't do it. I sure as hell wasn't a Delacroix and I wasn't much of a Buchanan, but I'd always been Wayne. Holding that pen in my hand, I just couldn't make myself write John or David on the dotted line. So I chose Rigsby, but I kept Wayne."

"I'm glad," Grace murmured, smoothing out the patterns she'd made in the fabric.

He chuckled under her ear. "Not a fan of John or David?"

She chuckled back. "John and David are fine, I would happily have called you either. But they're not you. Like you say, you've always been Wayne." She lifted her head and wiggled her brows at him. "I want the name I scream to be yours, not an alias you chose to escape your old life."

He gasped softly, sliding his hands down her sides to cup her ass and grind her firmly against him. She hummed and tipped her head back, arching into him and sighing under his touch.

"You keep talking like that and I won't be able to finish my story." His voice was rough and gravelly.

She dropped her head back down and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, a sexy man on my couch distracted me. Please continue."

He growled softly, clearly weighing the option of highly pleasurable lovemaking against painful storytelling. He sucked an annoyed breath through his teeth and chose to finish.

"I rode with them for another two years until Joe decided enough was enough. I guess he thought Sarah would eventually lose interest in them and settle down somewhere. Maybe he thought Cross would warm to me over time and put me somewhere safe. Whatever reason had kept him quiet for eight years, it didn't truck with him anymore. We were in San Francisco meeting up with another gang when he called Child Services. He told them where we were staying. He even mentioned that I had a grandmother somewhere in San Diego. The state came and took me away. They nearly got killed for their trouble. Joe had warned them, but there was still almost a shootout between the gang and the cops. For the first time in two years, I cried. I held onto Sarah for dear life and cried. I didn't know these people. All I knew was they were taking me away. Looking back, it was the best thing to ever happen to me. But you know how it is at the time. It's better the devil you know. They finally put me in a car and drove away. I never saw my parents again. I heard Sarah died a few years later. A bike accident on the way to Big Sur. Child Services gave me to my grandmother. They took me to her house in San Diego and she came out on the porch and asked me if I wanted a sandwich. I said yes. It was the first word I'd spoken in 25 months."

"Jesus, baby," Grace whispered.

He sighed and shifted underneath her.

"So what the hell was he arrested for?"

"I checked the local police arresting records today after lunch. He's got a rap sheet a mile long, but today he was brought in for a murder committed five years ago."

"You think he did it?"

He snorted. "And many, many more."

"What did he say to you?" she asked.

"He asked if I was Wayne, then said something like, 'It's Cross. They've brought me in and I need to talk to you.' Something like that. After he said his name, I had a hard time listening."

Grace nodded thoughtfully. "What are you going to do?"

"Absolutely nothing." There was no room for debate in his tone.

Grace stayed quiet. His voice sounded so cold, so angry. She settled down onto his chest again and ran her hands up and down his arms. She willed him to be soothed by her touch. She closed her eyes and purred softly against him, relaxing completely, silently asking him to do the same.

It worked.

She felt him release his tension, his muscles going slack under her fingers. His hands came up and slowly rubbed up and down her back, his fingers creeping shyly under her top. She shifted her head up until her lips grazed his chin. She placed light kisses along his throat and jaw. He groaned softly, his hands moving over her with more urgency. She ground her hips against his in slow, circular strokes. She smiled when she felt his body start to harden again, not from stress, but from desire.

She lifted off of him and stood next to the couch. She smiled as she took in her lover sprawled out before her. His large eyes blinked back at her steadily. His chest rose and fell with his breathing. His unusually long torso connected to his unusually long thighs. His lean hips. Even if only judged by the sum of his parts—which didn't even come close to his worth—he was an exquisite example of masculinity. She responded accordingly.

Silently, Grace removed every piece of her clothing, never breaking their gaze, until she stood naked before him. He didn't move, just stared longingly as she exposed every inch of herself to him. Her hair fell over her shoulders and obscured her breasts. Venus de Milo. Rigsby wouldn't have been surprised if cherubs flew out of nowhere to dance around her head. He stood up slowly.

"Are you seducing me, Grace?" He reached out and ran a finger along her waist, his eyes following its progress on her naked body.

"Is it working?" She tried not to push herself into his touch, as badly as she wanted to. His finger felt like an electrical current.

"You want to seduce a wild, uncultivated biker brat?" His finger traced upwards between her breasts.

Grace moaned softly and sank to her knees. She pulled his belt open and unzipped his fly. She felt him flinch as his erection strained towards her. As it spilled into her greedy hands, she stroked him firmly and whispered, "Let me show you how much."

Rigsby groaned deep in his throat as she pulled him into her eager mouth. She forgot everything as his taste and size filled her senses. No matter how many times she did this, it always amazed her. He tasted delicious. His size was dizzying. And his response always consisted of growls and loud moans. She slowly moved down, swirling her tongue around the head before passing it deeper into her mouth. Hearing him groan her name, she relaxed her throat and swallowed, letting it contort and close up around him, the muscles quivering around his length. He bucked hard at the sensation and gasped raggedly.

"Oh, Grace," he murmured softly. "You're perfect…so perfect…you-aaah!...amazing… Love you so much…aah!" He said more, but she was too lost in the feel of him to hear. She continued to suck him lovingly until she felt his hands cup her cheeks.

"Enough, baby. I don't want to come like this." His words came out in a gasp.

She pulled away from him and gave him a pouty smile. "But I like when you come like this. I love feeling you going crazy and pushing into my mouth."

He closed his eyes and moaned softly, but stopped her when she went to take him again. "No, not tonight. Just…make love to me. Please?"

She smiled softly and stood up, taking his hand. "Always."

She led him back to her room and undressed him. They wrapped their arms around each other and fell back. Grace kissed him slowly, deeply. She poured every ounce of her love into his mouth, her tongue dancing with his, their lips pressed seamlessly together.

He slipped on top of her. She smiled and adjusted under his weight. She marveled that, of all the sexual positions they'd fallen into in those few short weeks together, they both enjoyed simple missionary the most. Not that she didn't love riding him into a blissful screaming fit, or gasping with shock and pleasure when he took her against the wall, or thrilling at the vulnerability of being taken from behind, but something about being beneath him exhilarated them both. For Grace, it was the dichotomy of being protected and overpowered at the same time. For Wayne, it was the similar duality of loving her with every soft beat of his heart while taking her with every forceful thrust of his hips.

Now, she spread her legs wider, her knees sliding along his sides. She gasped when she felt his index finger trace lightly around her folds, teasing her sensitive nerves while testing her readiness. She learned this about him. He wouldn't rush penetration, he always teased her with foreplay until she was soaking and sobbing with impatience for him. She moaned and gripped him hard when he slipped his roughened finger into her core.

"You're always so wet, sweetheart," he murmured softly as he nibbled softly behind her ear. "I love how wet you get for me."

She writhed underneath him and pushed into his hands and groin. "Please, no teasing. I need you. Fill me up, baby. Please."

She knew using words like that set him on fire and she smirked when she heard him gasp against her shoulder. Without another word he gripped her knees, opening her wider, and stroked into her with one thrust. She cried out at as her body stretched wide to accommodate him. He groaned a throaty curse as her tight little channel clenched hotly around him. He stayed still a moment, letting them both adjust to their always-perfect fit. Grace clutched his shoulders and shoved her hips into his, willing him to move with her. He responded, thrusting slowly, pulling out completely before sinking to the hilt over and over. Grace moaned her approval and gripped him by the hair as she kissed him greedily. Rigsby slipped his tongue passed her lips, opening his mouth wide across hers as he explored the sweet, wet softness of two places at once. She opened herself to him in every way, loving what he took from her, what he gave to her. Her body hummed as her release started to build.

That always happened.

It still shocked her how often she came with Rigsby buried deep in her body. Before him, penetration had never been enough to stimulate her. To be fair, none of her past lovers had been as well endowed as her current one. But it was more than that. They struck each other like steel and flint. Sparks flew everywhere. Without fail, she burst into flames. Now, as his firm strokes became harder and less measured, Grace succumbed to the laws of pyrology.

She exploded and screamed. She seized and shuddered hard against him, gasping his name and sobbing intermittently. Rigsby thrust hard one final time before joining her in a roaring litany of cursing and love. They collapsed in a heap, sweating, shaking, gasping for air. His face fell into the wavy spill of her hair. She smiled as he moved his head from side to side, enjoying its softness against his cheeks and forehead. She turned her face and kissed his ear.

"Love you, biker brat," she giggled softly.

He lifted up and grinned at her. "Damn straight, Red."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Rigsby! My office, please."

Startled, Rigsby turned towards Lisbon's office door. She was standing in it expectantly, tapping her foot on the floor. "Now?"

He quickly stood up. "Sure, boss." He cast a furtive glance at Grace as he walked over. Surely Lisbon hadn't found out about them? They were so careful. Rigsby shouldered his way into the glass cube, Lisbon closing the door behind him. He sat down as she settled behind her desk, looking at him quizzically.

"You wanna tell me why I'm getting phone calls from the chief of police in the LAPD asking if he can borrow you as an interrogator?" She dove right in.

Rigsby blinked in surprise. At a momentary loss, he answered honestly. "I have no idea, boss. Wouldn't they rather take Cho?"

Lisbon tapped her pen on her desk. "Nope. They were quite specific. Apparently they have a suspect in custody who waived his right to an attorney, but in return will only talk to you. A murder suspect named Delacroix?" Her sentence raised at the end, wanting to know if that name meant something to Rigsby. Christ, did it ever.

Rigsby clicked his teeth. "I respectfully decline."

"Not your call, agent. Who is this guy? Why has he asked for you?" Lisbon tried to keep her questioning calm and professional.

Rigsby felt his chest tighten and his palms went clammy. This is exactly what he'd hoped to avoid for the last twenty-odd years. "Please, boss. I'd really, _really_ rather not say. Send Cho. He'll get whatever they need out of him. But I refuse to speak to that man. Personal reasons."

Lisbon watched him carefully as he squirmed in his seat, avoiding her eyes. She sighed in exasperation. "Should his first name clue me into what's going on here? Wayne?" She threw his given name like a dart. Rigsby lowered his head and said nothing. Lisbon leaned across her desk and continued in a lowered voice. "You're my agent. I know your file inside and out. Your dad's a wanted fugitive. Now we have a suspect of the same name and right age asking for you. The least you can do is own up to me, Rigsby. Does the LAPD have your father in custody?"

Rigsby's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yes," he muttered to the floor.

Silence hung between them. When Lisbon finally spoke, her tone was sympathetic, but her words were all business. "Then we have an opportunity. I want you to drive down to L.A. and interrogate Delacroix. Take Cho or Jane with you as backup, if you want it, but are who he asked for, so you're up. This man is suspected of a lot more than just one murder. He might admit to others." She paused. "This isn't a request."

Rigsby finally pulled his eyes to hers. Lisbon was startled that the gaze of her happy-go-lucky agent was clouded with so much anger and fear. But his voice was nothing but calm acceptance. "I'll go first thing tomorrow morning boss. With just one request."

Lisbon cocked her head. "I'm listening."

"Instead of Cho or Jane I'd like Agent Van Pelt to accompany me."

Lisbon huffed in surprise. "What? Why Van Pelt? She's green in the interrogation room. She won't be able to help you much with this man."

Rigsby's steady gaze didn't falter. "Speaking candidly, this case is difficult for me. Emotionally. I don't need Cho's stoicism or Jane's invasive crap during a six-hour drive. Van Pelt is more respectful of people's personal issues. And questioning Cross would be a good experience for her. Lessen her greenness. Don't you agree?"

He could see the wheels turning in Lisbon's head as she considered his reasoning. His demeanor softened noticeably. "Please, boss. Cross won't talk to Cho or Jane anyway. He's made that clear. And once the nature of this case gets out, I'd rather have moral support from a friend instead of cold rationality or amused prodding from the other two."

Lisbon's green eye sparkled slightly at the word 'friend'. Rigsby didn't react. It wasn't a lie, after all. Grace might be his lover, but she had always been his friend. And while her moral support might be a helluva lot more personal than he was letting on, it was moral support nonetheless. Grace was a good agent. She was a logical choice.

Finally, Lisbon nodded. "All right. You can have Van Pelt. You guys leave early tomorrow morning." She waved her hand at him. "Shoo. And send Van Pelt in here. I'll update her on her new assignment."

Rigsby nodded and headed out. As he signaled to Grace to take his place, he let out a slow breath. As relieved as he was that she was coming, tomorrow was going to be hell.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep!_

Rigsby groaned and swatted blindly at the alarm as it rudely informed him and Grace and it was 4:30am. Grace grumbled, burrowing deeper into his arms and pulling the sheets over her head. His hand connected with the snooze button and he brought it back to cup her head gently as she nuzzled into his chest. Her hair was a disheveled, sexy mess. Just the way he liked it. He smiled sleepily. No matter what she said, his childhood had been worth every second if he got to wake up every morning with her soft, warm body curled sweetly into his.

"Time to get up, baby," he murmured softly.

"Can't talk. Sleeping."

He chuckled and threw the covers back. Grace made a noise of annoyance at the sudden loss of heat. "Meanie," she muttered, huddling closer to him for warmth.

"I'll make you some nice, yummy coffee if you get up," he coaxed.

She huffed and didn't move. "No deal. Sleep."

He sat up and pulled her with him. She whined softly and made no move to support her own weight, so he dropped his shoulder under her stomach and hoisted her up like a sack of potatoes. He smirked when she giggled. He walked into his bathroom and turned on the shower before gently setting her down on her feet. She'd slept naked, so he prodded her directly under the hot stream.

"Shower, then coffee. That should get you moving," he teased softly as he pulled the curtain closed and turned towards the hallway.

"You're not joining me?" Her voice had lost its sleepy edge and held an inviting pitch that almost made him double back and rip that curtain down. But he resisted.

"Coffee or sex? Your call, hot stuff." He smiled as he waited at the door. He heard her huff with frustration.

"Coffee. God, you're evil."

He chuckled and walked out to the kitchen. He loaded up his coffeemaker and hit the button. While it brewed, he pulled out a box of Frosted Flakes for himself and bran flakes for Grace. The minute they'd started dating, Rigsby had dashed out and bought as many wholesome cereals, fruits and non-fat munchies as he could carry. He never wanted her to go hungry in his house, so now his kitchen was a bizarrely altered landscape of rice cakes and yoghurt pyramids where Doritos and frozen meals once reigned supreme. He pulled the milk and a basket of raspberries from the fridge and set them by her bran flakes. The coffee began to percolate at the exact moment Grace wandered into the kitchen, wearing his robe and steaming from the hot water.

"Perfect timing. Food here. Coffee there. Eat. I'll be out in five minutes," Rigsby pointed to each thing in turn before heading back towards the bathroom.

"You're not going to eat with me?" She pouted up at him through her red, wet locks dangling over her eyes.

He swooped in front of her, hooking his thumbs into the terrycloth and dragging her against his naked body. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. "If I have to watch you bathe, or watch you eat your cereal in my robe, I'll lock us in this apartment for the rest of the day." He gave her a quick, hard kiss. "Today is going to suck. I don't need my sexy girlfriend prancing around and giving me ideas about staying."

He let her go and stepped back, pointing to the table. "Eat," he repeated and headed for the back. She grinned and did as she was told. She poured herself some joe, then added milk and berries to her plain cereal. The silly grin wouldn't leave her face as she started to eat. Despite her whining, she was thrilled that she was going with Rigsby to interrogate Cross. Lisbon had relayed Rigsby's request to take her with him and she'd been shocked at his boldness. The fact that he said he wanted a friend with him, as well as a partner who could benefit from the experience, it was a risky thing to ask for, what with them sleeping together and all. She took a deep swig of coffee. She felt it warm her stomach and start herding her sluggish blood into a steady trot. Excellent.

She finished her breakfast and rinsed the bowl in the sink before going into the bedroom to dress. She found Rigsby already suiting up, his wet hair sparkling like frost. She smiled and grabbed his towel from the floor. She jumped on his bed and threw the towel over his head, pulling her to him and rubbing the towel briskly over his scalp. He chuckled from under the towel and obediently held still while she dried him off more to her liking.

"Like a dog in from the rain," he laughed as she pulled the cloth back from his eyes. She found them as blue and as happy as she ever wanted to. She laughed with him.

"More like a hedgehog. If hedgehogs were soft." She ran her fingers through his more thoroughly dried hair. Just as she described, spiky to the eyes, soft to the touch. She released him and let him get back to dressing. As he finished and went to eat, she jumped into her good jeans and button down shirt before doing her hair and makeup. They met at the door all ready to go at 5:10 exactly. Not too shabby.

They loaded their SUV up with their overnight bags and supplies. As they settled into their seats, Rigsby flipped the headlights on and looked out into the still-dark parking lot. He turned to her and spoke softly. "Thank you for coming with me."

She smiled and shook her head. "It's nothing, Wayne. I'm glad you asked for me."

"I know. But…thank you. I don't know if I could have done this alone."

Grace leaned over and kissed him softly. "You're never alone. We'll get through this. You and me. This man, he can't ever hurt you again. Remember that, okay?"

He inhaled and nodded. "Okay." He put the car into gear. "Let's get this over with."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The drive to L.A. was sunny and pleasant. Grace kicked off her shoes and stretched her bare feet out the open window, letting the breeze jet between her toes. She pulled out a girly magazine and gave Rigsby the _How To Please Your Man_ quiz before reading his horoscope.

"Let's see. Cancer. Huh, interesting. '_With the moon in the ascendancy, you will take a long trip ending with feelings of peace and closure. Watch out for traffic jams on the Santa Monica freeway between the hours of 4-7pm and Grace says to tell you that you look cute in that suit_.' Wow, this guy's really good."

Rigsby grinned at her deadpan reading and reached over with his free hand. "Amazing. He puts Jane to shame."

Giggling, she took his hand and began toying playfully with his watch and ring. She twisted the plain silver band around his finger over and over, watching it glint in the sunlight. "I love this ring," she murmured aloud, her gaze never leaving it.

He smiled and said nothing. His grandmother had given it to him the day he graduated. He'd seen it sitting in her jewelry box for many years and assumed it belonged to her late husband. His grandfather. When she gave it to him, she didn't explain its origins, she just said it was his time to wear it. So he did.

Suddenly Grace looked up and her smile exploded. "Oh my God! Pull over here! _StopstopSTOP_!"

Rigsby slammed on the breaks, nearly careening off the side of the road. "_Jesus_! What is it?! What's wrong?"

But she was already leaping out of the car and sprinting across the road. Into the forest. Rigsby watched, flabbergasted, as she ran full speed through the trees, barefoot and laughing like a wood sprite. Rigsby jumped out of the SUV, flipping the locks as he took off after her.

"GRACE!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. Wild, musical laughter answered him from somewhere far ahead of him. She suddenly appeared in a clearing about 60 feet away.

"What the hell are you doing?" His question wasn't angry. He'd gone from panic to incomprehension in ten seconds flat, now he wanted to know why the hell they were running through the forest when they had a job to do.

Grace saw him and clapped her hands over her lips in giggling elation. She charged him, her feet flying over the soft earth and moss as her speed carried her effortlessly. She didn't slow down as she reached him, plowing straight into his arms and knocking them both to the ground. Rigsby gasped as the breath was knocked out of him, Grace landing hard on his chest. She was looking down at him with the most childlike smile of wonder and glee that he'd ever seen on her. Her eyes sparkled at him, then they looked up at the canopy.

"Redwoods," she almost whispered the word.

Rigsby looked above them into the enormous tree span over their heads. He'd seen them many, many times in his life. The Outlaws had favored coastal highways, which were surrounded by these massive old pines. Californians in general were no strangers to giant trees, but looking at Grace, he realized he'd forgotten that his little Iowan from the Breadbasket was new to mega flora. His girl was a prairie girl. He smiled wanly as he watched her stare in awe.

She rolled off of him and settled on her back next to him, looking straight up. She sighed contentedly. "When I was little, I read all the fairytales about big, scary forests where magical creatures waited for little children to wander in. Witches with candy. Trolls. Wizards. Bears who lived in houses. Brownies and nymphs. They all seemed to live in the woods. They used all of these amazing plants in potions to make people sleep forever, to make them fall in love, to make them grow and shrink." She sighed again, this one sounded almost wistful. "I wanted so badly to run away into the woods and see them. But all I had was corn. An ocean of corn."

Rigsby looked over at her. Her expression was far away. Almost sad. He reached out and brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. She turned to him and chuckled softly.

"I loved a forest I never saw. You lived in a forest you hated. Not fair, is it?" She went to sit up, but Rigsby quickly rolled on top of her, pinning her to the ground. He regarded her seriously as she looked up at him questioningly.

His shook his head in amazement. "I was terrified of monsters. You wanted to go look for them. I wish I'd had you with me in the woods at night."

Grace murmured in sympathy, kissing his forearm next to her head. She looked back at him, her smile a bit more daring. "You have me in the woods now."

Birds warbled far above their heads as she statement hung in the air. A small twig cracked somewhere. A squirrel chattered. They breathed quietly.

Slowly, Grace pushed him on his back. Slowly, she kissed him into an agitated, worked up frenzy. He moaned and hardened beneath her. His hands roved everywhere, wanting to touch every inch of her. As she moved down his body, she whispered, "I have some business to finish from last night."

Staring up into the trees that he'd distrusted and hated for so many years, Rigsby received the most incredible blowjob of his life. She pushed away enough of his clothes to get unfettered access to him, then proceeded to nurse him slowly and lazily until he was rock hard and pulsating in her mouth. As he grew louder and restless under her, she picked up her speed and suction. She massaged the base with one hand, his balls in the other. She listened carefully to his words, sucking harder when he moaned softly, pulling back when he cursed loudly. She took him to the edge several times, stopping when she sensed his climax building. She wanted this to last. She wanted to drive him so crazy that when he finally did let go, it would destroy him with pleasure.

She let him go again as she felt him getting close and he moaned as if in pain. "Grace, please…finish me off…it's too good, I can't take it…please…suck me…_please_!"

She smiled and took him once more, sucking hard and pushing her lips, tongue and cheeks into him as she moved at a frantic pace. He bucked as his orgasm crested and crashed into him.

"_Fuuuuuuuck_!"

His scream echoed across the trees and quieted every animal in a two-mile radius. In the deathly silence Grace listened to him gasp and moan as pleasure shuddered its way through his body. His legs shook on either side of her as she gently put his clothes back together. When she slid his buckle into place and smoothed his tie, he'd stopped shaking.

He sat up in front of her, pulling her out from between his legs and into his lap, holding her tightly. She wrapped her arms around him and began pulling off the leaves and pine needles she felt on the back of his jacket. She giggled when she realized her own hair and clothes must be covered in foresty crap.

"We should get going," she said softly.

"You.." he stopped, framing her face in his hands. "I don't have the words. You…you save me."

She chuckled into his hands. "Again with the smooth talk. C'mon. We'll never make L.A. before noon if we sit here all day."

She jumped up and pulled him by his arm. He followed in a daze as she led him back to their car.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Grace had never been to L.A. and quickly made an oath upon arrival that—unless work demanded it—she'd never come back again. The city wasn't really a city at all, just a smog-cloaked series of freeways and dead glassy architecture. Everything looked grey. Not that she was big-city savvy. Her exposure to big cities was limited to Chicago and New York. Little vacations with family when she was a kid. But at least those towns were centralized. You could get out and walk to things. And they were old. Ish. They felt like generations had slowly created the great metropolises they were today. L.A.? Had all the old-school charm of Barbie's Dream House. Plastic and with a history dating all the way back to the 1980s. _Bleck_, she thought to herself. _Pass_.

"Would you kill me if I said this town was fugly?" she asked Rigsby as he changed lanes.

Rigsby spared a glance her way. "Baby, no one likes L.A. You can call it any nasty name you want."

Grace smiled and looked back out the window. "Just wanted to make sure I wasn't upsetting a Californian with my humble cornpone opinions."

"Versus my polished, cosmopolitan views? Have you even met me? I think Bud Ice is the single greatest culinary invention of all time."

Grace sighed theatrically. "I caught such a dapper gent, didn't I?"

"You caught a fellow pea," Rigsby smirked at her. "Now we just need to find a pod."

She bubbled with laughter. "Is that your half-assed way of asking me to move in with you?"

Rigsby's brows shot up and he looked at her in startled panic. "No! I was just…we're just alike is what I meant. No, God no. I wasn't asking that."

"Oooooh. Sooooo, you don't want to live with me, huh? Think I'll cramp your style? Or would it mess up the rotation with all your other girlfriends?" She was taking special delight in his backpedaling.

"That's it exactly. How am I supposed to keep the rota of all my lady friends going if you're living with me? I'm thinking of others here, Grace. Selflessly keeping my revolving door open for the stable of hotties I keep."

Grace shrieked with laughter. "Stable? Oh, my God, you didn't just say stable. You shameless sex hound, you."

Rigsby laughed with her and pulled her hand to his lips, giving her an exaggerated smooch on her fingers. "Boy, do you have my number or what?"

She grinned. "Me and the tri-country area, Romeo."

Their game had Rigsby gaffawing all the way to the police station. He didn't think of Cross once.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That changed the minute the building came into view. Rigsby's smile slipped further and further down his lips until they settled into a deep frown as they parked. Grace knew it would happen, but winced when it did. It hurt to see him so miserable. As they walked towards the main entrance, she furtively reached over and squeezed his hand gently before letting go. He nodded slightly. He had a friend with him. Hopefully this train wreck would be over quickly and they could get back to Sacramento as fast as four wheels could carry them. Then he could go back to his delicious new routine of cop work in the day and electrifying sex and cuddling with Grace at night.

He held the door open for his colleague and walked in behind her.

Show time.

They flashed their badges at the desk. "Agent Rigsby and Agent Van Pelt of the CBI," Rigsby told the receptionist over his open wallet. "We're here to interrogate Wayne Delacriox."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He was exactly what Grace had expected.

And nothing like what she had prepared herself for.

Wayne Delacroix: aka Cross, 61 years old, 6'4" tall, 214lbs, graying brown hair, blue eyes, Caucasian male, gang leader and wanted fugitive.

Words.

Pale words.

The man who sat in the interrogation room was everything the case file had described. And yet had told her nothing.

Grace stood frozen behind the two-way mirror next to Rigsby, watching their suspect for a few minutes before going in to talk to him. As Grace studied him, she berated those words for falling so short of their job. They were _supposed _to tell her what to expect. They had failed. They _hadn't_, for example, told her that Wayne Delacroix was her boyfriend, if he had suddenly aged 30 years and chosen of life of bikes, brothels and Jose Cuervo. Those words hadn't decided to include their fellow adjectives like salty. Weather-beaten. Leathery, both in skin and attire. Handsome, in an extreme and jagged kind of way. They hadn't informed her that he had a dangerous, lazy slouch to him as he sat in a spindly chair far too small and frail for his big frame. They didn't call him an old, grizzled lion with absolutely nothing to prove. They didn't elaborate on what his posture was silently telling everybody. _Do whatever you fuckin' want, except get close. God help you if you get too close. _

Watching her lover's father, Grace swallowed thickly. She didn't scare easy. She'd seen and even questioned a tough guy or two. They all talked the talk and a few of them even walked the walk. But there was always a certain amount of vanity in them. Showmanship. Which was good. It made them easy to understand. Easy to manipulate. Vain showmen needed audience approval, even if the audience was composed solely of cops. They liked the attention.

This man?

There was no bravado in this man. No vanity. Grace wasn't Jane, but she knew from the moment she slapped eyes on him, this man was just artlessly, effortlessly lethal. He sat indifferently, watching his own finger scrape slowly over the Formica table. His bearing told her that his expression wouldn't change, even if he was slicing out the intestines of a another human being. Indifferent.

Lions don't kill for peer approval, but they kill nonetheless. Cross was that kind of killer. Grace would bet anything on it. She was amazed that Wayne had survived his childhood at all. After all, male lions ate cubs.

She turned to him now. His expression showed nothing. No fear. No love. Just pure concentration. She applauded his effort. He was trying like hell to see a stranger in there. Just another suspect. Just another day on the job.

They were alone in the observation room. It would be so easy for her to reach over and give him a reassuring hug. But she didn't. She knew better. Wayne clearly wanted to keep this as professional as possible. To touch him, to support him, was to highlight just how difficult this case was. Instead, she opened her copy of Cross's file and read his arrest record and list of other possible crimes. Lots of bar fights. Trespassing. Assault with a deadly weapon. Illegal use of firearms. No permit to carry. Narcotics beefs. The list spanned pages and pages.

"How do you want to do this? Do you want me in there with you?" Grace kept her voice cool as she continued to read.

Rigsby didn't answer. His gaze never flickered from the man on the other side of the glass. Grace looked up. "Wayne?"

He blinked and looked over. "Sorry," he said. "Yes, you should come with me. I sold this idea to Lisbon by saying you'd benefit from this. And you will. But," he hesitated and dropped his eyes from the glass.

"But?"

Rigsby lifted his eyes to hers. "Oh, baby," he murmured softly, starting to reach for her but stopping short. "I don't want him to see you. I don't want you anywhere near him. I don't want him talking to you or even knowing you exist. You," he cut off, looking absolutely dejected. "You're the purest thing in my life. I don't want him worming in and…"

"Tainting us?" Grace finished his thought.

He nodded and cursed softly.

Grace backtracked her original plan and took his hand in hers. "You're giving him too much credit, Wayne. He's nothing to you, so he's nothing to me. He can't do anything we don't want him to."

He smiled faintly and squeezed her hand. She smiled and squeezed back.

Rigsby cleared his throat and held her hand up dramatically. "Miss Van Pelt? Allow me the pleasure of introducing my father to you."

Her smile widened and she dipped him a curtsey. "Why, thank you ever so, Mr. Rigsby."

With their last little attempt at levity, Rigsby opened the door between the two rooms and the two agents stepped in.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The air felt distinctly chillier.

As the door slipped shut behind the two agents, Cross slowly moved his gaze from the table to their position, his chin sliding lazily upwards. The three regarded each other for an hour-long three seconds. The old lion's eyes moved slowly between them, recognition when flitting over the man, appraisal when moving over the woman. The silence felt thick. The pressure of speech felt crushing. As Grace felt his eyes roving over her body, she instantly felt powerless. She was an insect pinned to a board. Studied for amusement. Dissected. Laid open. She knew this feeling immediately. She'd felt it on her first week on the job, before developing immunity to it. But this was a new source entirely. She hadn't expected it. Again, she wasn't prepared.

Cross clearly wasn't Jane in almost any sense. But they did share a frightening ability.

Cross had thrall.

She broke one of her cardinal rules for the interrogation room and shivered in front of a suspect. Cross saw it. The twitch on his lips told her so. She cursed herself silently.

It had already felt like an eternity, but Rigsby broke the moment by walking to the table and sitting down across from him. Grace followed. He looked the man dead in the eye. When he spoke, his voice was nothing short of robotic.

"Wayne Delacroix. I'm Agent Rigsby, this is Agent Van Pelt of the CBI. I understand you've asked for me and have waived your right to an attorney. You've been brought in on charges of a murder of a rival gang leader five years ago and are suspected of several others. Are you prepared to give a statement?"

Cross didn't react. Slouching further into his chair, he regarded his son with a mixture of amusement at Rigsby's tone and acidic distain for his words. He smirked, running his tongue of the back of his front teeth.

"Son, you sure turned out pretty." His voice did nothing to lessen Grace's impression of him. Deep. _Soto voce_ and dangerous. A baritone timbre that comes with a deep chest. Gravel that comes with years of too much booze. Too much smoke. Emphatically masculine. Undeniably magnetic.

Whatever slim hope Rigsby had cherished that this encounter would stay detached disappeared. Instead, the two men stared each other down. One gaze was calm and entertained. One was implacably furious. "Fuck you, Cross."

Grace flinched at Rigsby's voice. Pitched low and filled with rage as it was, it sounded identical to Cross's. She kept her shiver in check this time.

Cross's eyes flashed with mirth and he unfolded slightly from his slouch. "_There's_ my boy. For a second there I was afraid I'd sired a pussy in a suit, all proper names and hiding behind a badge," he paused and eyed Grace lecherously. "And a skirt."

"Eyes on me, cowboy." Rigsby snapped his fingers in front of Cross's eyes, bringing his attention back to him. Cross snorted and looked at Grace again, jerking his head towards Wayne.

"You screwing my boy, sweetheart? That why you're here?"

Grace felt Rigsby go rigid with fury beside her, but she merely relaxed back into her seat and smirked back at Cross, mirroring his contempt. "I wouldn't know. How many bastards did you abandon out there? I suppose I might have hooked up with one, at some point. Gotta list?"

Cross roared with laughter and slammed both fists on the flimsy table. Heavy silver rings glittered on each hand. Grace felt the pressboard tent with the impact. His even, white teeth glinted in his large mouth. "Fuckin' Christ! You got balls, little girl."

He cleared his throat and settled more comfortably before turning to Rigsby. "I like her, son. You did good."

"It's Agent Rigsby. Now are you gonna talk about this murder charge or did I drive down here for nothing?"

"Oh, Jesus, calm down. You just got here. I'm all chained up and ain't going anywhere. Least you can do is chitchat with the old man. I'm happy as hell, last we crossed you hadn't made a peep in years. Now listen t'you. Fuckin' articulacy itself."

"I've got nothing to say to you. Never did. Now talk to me about this murder or we walk."

Cross leaned forward, his smile slipping into a much more frightening visage. "Don't you sass me, little man. I say when we're finished here. Requesting you was a fuckin' courtesy. Don't you think for a second that I wouldn't have had you beaten and dragged down here by the short hairs, if that was my fuckin' inclination. I wanna talk, so we're gonna talk."

Rigsby leaned forward as well, their faces mere inches from each other. Grace felt lightheaded with fear and fascination as she watched the young man challenge the old. Physically, they were pretty evenly matched. Psychologically, Rigsby was woefully outgunned. The virtues she loved in him: kindness, fairness, gentleness, a stranger to violence for violence's sake. These were easy targets for a man like Cross. They could all get him killed. But she showed none of her anxiety as Rigsby continued to hold his own.

"What exactly do you want, man? Why ask for me? After 23 years, what could be so damn pressing?"

Cross held his gaze for a few more seconds before snorting and settling back again. "Come back tomorrow."

Rigsby flinched. "What? Nuh-uh. We're talking now. We're finishing now. Then my partner and I are driving back to Sacramento. Whatever you've gotta say, spit it out."

Cross slowly drummed his fingers on the table, pushing at Rigsby's patience with his silence. He lifted his eyes upward in exaggerated thought.

"Y'know, I'm a bad, ill-bred man, Agent Rigsby. Done a lot of appalling shit in my day. I'm sure you remember. You were such a sharp little tack. Noticed everything, didn't you? But see? A lot of unpleasantries have occurred since we parted ways. Lotta blood spilt, so to speak."

"Are you offering to confess to other crimes if we return tomorrow?" Grace asked calmly.

Cross moved his gaze to her then Rigsby again. "Yes, sugar. That's exactly what I'm inferring here. You come back tomorrow, talk to your old man some more, and I agree to converse on…previous misdeeds. We gotta deal?"

Grace didn't venture a look at Rigsby. She felt he was too far gone to consider the offer carefully. So she spoke before he had a chance to retort.

"We have a deal, Mr. Delacroix. We'll see you tomorrow morning." Grace rose from her chair, taking her time to give Rigsby a chance to follow her lead. He did so, his eyes never leaving his father's.

"If you're jerking us around, you and I are gonna have words."

Cross clicked his teeth. "Wear somethin' else beside a damn suit tomorrow, boy. They aren't fuckin' conducive to relaxing dialogue."

The door slammed harder on their way out than it had on their way in.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That night, for the first time since their relationship began, Rigsby fucked Grace.

Before that night, every encounter had been loving and aware. That's not to say that many of them hadn't been passionate. Or desperate. Or even frenzied. In fact, most of their lovemaking sessions had reached violent pitches that came naturally with young people hopelessly in love. But each time they'd looked into each other's eyes, or held each other's hand, or whispered their adoration over the hard smacks of their bodies.

This time held no tenderness.

No softness.

No awareness.

After their interrogation, they had gotten into the car and just drove. Rigsby was behind the wheel. He said nothing, just gripped the wheel until his knuckles went white and drove around the labyrinth of streets and highways, his eyes never straying from the road in front of him. Grace let him. She sat quietly, keeping her glances at him to a minimum. She could feel the hatred pouring off of him in white, hot waves. She felt him slipping into the mute, damaged mode of his childhood, the one he'd described to her with such anguish. But there wasn't a single utterance she could think of to ease his pain, so she prayed that her presence was enough and let him cope as he saw fit.

They drove for about two hours, incidentally sightseeing Hollywood, the Santa Monica Pier, Malibu. Grace took it all in passively. Rigsby didn't see it at all.

He finally made his way to their hotel where Grace did the talking at the desk. She took their key with thanks and led him silently to their room.

The door had barely clicked shut when he attacked.

He grabbed her from behind and spun her around. She gasped loudly as the wind was squeezed out of her, his arms crushing her to him with alarming force. Only she wasn't alarmed.

She let him.

Rigsby uttered a strangled, angry moan into her hair before shoving her far enough away to start ripping at her clothes. Every button popped as he wretched her button-down shirt open. He angrily tore it from her arms and threw it on the floor, not seeing it as he spun her around and pawed roughly at the catch on her bra. Mercifully, it released under his fingers and he spun her back around, yanking it off. He fell to his knees, jerking her towards him and burying his head against her stomach and breasts. His arms banded under her ass and he pulled her into him. She held his head gently against her bare body as he began to tug impatiently at her jeans.

He got them open and pulled them along with her panties down her legs, not caring if she kept her balance. She stumbled and steadied herself on his shoulders, almost falling over as he yanked unthinkingly. She was naked before him and he immediately shot to his feet, pulling and ripping at his own suit with the same uncaring urgency. His eyes pinned her in place.

Her heart ached as she watched him strip hurriedly. There was no love in his eyes right now. No Wayne. It was almost like he wasn't seeing her at all. And she only saw torment and suffering. It tore her apart. Right then, she wasn't his lover. She was a release. A means to an end. He _needed_ to do something physical. Something hard. He needed to ease his grief by taking a hit of something pleasant. He _needed_ to fuck.

She let him.

He pushed her—not gently—onto the neatly made bed and crawled up after her. His movements were quick and nothing short of mechanical. Grace barely had time to spread her body under his larger frame before he wedged himself between her thighs and thrust deeply.

Grace couldn't stop the startled gasp that escaped. She hadn't been ready. His thick length met with slight resistance. Her muscles weren't loose, she wasn't wet. She winced slightly as he gave a shuddering moan of pleasure. She'd never felt so tight around him, and she was tight to begin with. The lack of foreplay made conditions perfect for what he needed. Rough and taut. He withdrew and plunged again, grunting as he put all of his frustrations into screwing her.

She wrapped her arms around him and held on, willing her body to relax and take his onslaught of weight and force. After her initial gasp, she made no noise. She stroked his hair. She caressed his back. Her body was warming up and coating him with the necessary lubrication to make his strokes more pleasurable as he drove like a man possessed into her core. Between his moans and grunts, she began to make out soft mutterings against her shoulder.

"…sorry, baby…so sorry…fuck!...loveyou..sorryloveyou…love you…need you…I'm sorry…"

She shushed him gently and wrapped her legs around him, kissing his ear, showing her consent. "I love you, Wayne. It's okay. I've got you. Hold onto me."

He tightened his already crushing grip on her, pistoning in and out until Grace, to her surprise, seized and came violently under him. Her inner muscles clamped down hard, begging him to come with her. She froze for a moment before convulsing and calling his name in a breathy gasp into his dark hair. He didn't stop to admire the view. He thrust hard several more times before snapping his head back and screaming as his release jetted in a hot stream from his body into hers.

They shivered together as he collapsed onto her, his elbows propped just enough to keep from smothering her. She panted hard against him, pulling ragged lung fulls of air. As her shivering subsided with her orgasm, she felt that Rigsby's wasn't. He continued to shake, his abdominal and arm muscles quivering all around her. His head was still on her shoulder, hiding his expression from her. When she nudged him up gently, her heart broke all over again.

Tears soaked his face. His expression was crumpled. He looked so lost. So sad. His eyes were blue sorrow. He bit his lips, then whispered, "Forgive me."

She smiled her warmest, most reassuring smile and stroked his face. "You're mine to comfort. There's nothing to forgive."

"I hurt you." More tears threatened to fall.

"You needed me," she corrected. "I always want you. You didn't _take_ anything."

He sniffed and exhaled shakily, lowering his head back to her shoulder. "I love you, Grace. Please don't ever leave me."

She heard the child he used to be in his question. She held him tighter. "Never, baby. I'm here." She cradled him against her as she slowly began to feel the tension slip from his body. "I'm right here."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Grace didn't say anything when Rigsby emerged from the bathroom wearing a t-shirt and jeans early the next morning. As good as he looked, his expression was made up of annoyance and bad grace. She cringed inwardly. Ordinarily, he loved wearing his weekend clothes. And he'd loved it even more when he found out that it drove Grace crazy. Even now, as he began loading his pockets up with keys and change from the dresser, she couldn't stop the memories of petting him through those tight layers of fabric, stroking and teasing until he moaned and vibrated with need. She'd scrape her nails along his biceps. She'd fan her fingers into the seam of his jeans. Her favorite memory was their first real date. He'd taken her to a pool hall after she admitted never having played. He'd picked her up wearing jeans and a snap-button shirt that made him the instant object of lust to women everywhere they went. She'd been so glad that she'd gone with a slightly naughty little skirt, tank top and jean jacket. As she opened the door, his eyes were magnetically pulled to her legs and she heard his breath hitch. At the pool hall, the warm air gave her the excuse she was looking for to take off her jacket. Suddenly, she was the object of lust for every man as she bent provocatively over the table and looked over her shoulder at him.

"Show me?" she asked sweetly.

He had gulped and smiled nervously, spooning behind her and leaning into the cue to help line up her shot. She didn't bother screening her sigh as his hands covered hers and his hips pressed her firmly into the table. He gasped into her hair as she pushed her hips back into him gently.

"Is that good?" she whispered. She meant the shot. She _really_ meant their closeness. She pushed into him again.

He groaned softly, his hands tightening over hers. "_So_ good, baby."

It was the first time he'd ever called her baby.

She turned her head slightly and caught his eye. "It _will _be." She proceeded to clear the table without even giving him a shot. That night, naked and thrusting frantically against each other, he'd whispered hotly that she'd lied about never playing pool. She moaned in response and yanked him closer.

So _maybe _she'd taken two semesters of billiards as part of the recreational requirement for her BA. The point was that she got him to bend her over a table and let him know in no uncertain terms that she wanted him.

But that memory felt faded and useless now.

He was dressed like this because Cross told him to. There would be no pool lessons or teasing today.

Sitting on the bed, Grace picked up her brush and quickly smoothed out her tangled mane before slipping on her trainers and standing up. In a show of solidarity, she too wore her jeans and a green baby tee. Rigsby turned away from the dresser and smiled gently at her.

"You look adorable."

She snickered. "Gee, just what I was going for. Cross will fold like a sheet the minute he sees scary, 'adorable' me."

"Of course he will," he teased lightly, walking over and looping his arms around her waist. "I fold when I see you every day."

"Baby," she murmured softly, using the pet name she loved so much as she twined her arms around his neck. "I want you to promise me you won't let him get to you. Okay? He's been captured. He's bored. He's looking for something to entertain him until he goes to trial. He's fucking with you. Please?" She paused and looked at him beseechingly. The soft, fragile butterfly was back, fluttering in his hands. "Don't _let _him."

Rigsby sighed heavily and dropped his head, his dark hair inches from her face. "I hate him," he muttered.

"He's not important enough to hate," she counseled.

Head still lowered, he nodded slightly. "What the fuck does he want, Grace?"

She slid her arms further up his neck and moved around his head, hugging him as his nose automatically buried in her neck. "I don't know," she answered quietly. "Maybe he wants to tell you about your mom. Maybe he wants to apologize. Maybe, in some sick way, he's trying to get to know you." She pulled back and looked at him. "Maybe nothing at all."

She didn't want to sugarcoat. This man was an unforgivable asshole in her opinion, no reason to make excuses for him.

"The important thing is that we get our confession."

He sighed again against her. "Any chance we can just crawl under the covers and stay here all day until it's time to drive home?"

She laughed softly and stepped away from him. "When we get back, that's exactly what we're going to do."

He snorted and grabbed his jacket. "All right. Let's go." He paused and turned to her. "Did you want to throw your stuff in your room?"

She grabbed her jacket too and shook her head. "It'll just end up back in here anyway. It's not like the maid service is going to report back that we didn't use two rooms, right?"

He held the door open for her as they walked out. "Another fraudulent use of taxpayers' money; hiding our relationship."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Cross was already chained loosely to his chair when they walked in. Still in his biker leather, Grace wondered briefly why they hadn't made him change into prisoner garb. Looking at his ropey, muscled hands, she supposed _she_ wouldn't want to be the one to force him into an orange jumper. Whatever the reason, they'd left him alone. Perhaps they were hoping the CBI would take him off their hands.

"Mornin', Wayne. Miss…Vanderlei, was it?" Cross mused as they settled across from him.

"Van Pelt," she corrected politely. "You can call me Grace, if you'd prefer." He seemed to hate formalities. Wanting him comfortable, she gave him a small piece of information that was on her business card anyway. No big concession.

"Graaace," Cross flicked the syllable across his teeth. Grace flinched inwardly again. She often heard her name hissed in that dark, sandpapery voice. Except she was in the arms of his son when she heard it. She kept her eyes steady, her reaction be damned. This man was _not _Rigsby in any way, shape or form. DNA could go take a flying leap.

"How would you like to start this, Mr. Delacroix? Or do you rather I call you Cross?" she began.

"Cross is dandy. Thank you for asking, Grace." Her name caressed again.

"Cross. Are you willing to begin with your confession to the murder of James Archer, aka Diamondback, on April 3rd, 2004 outside of the Sidewinder Saloon?" She paused, letting the words settle between the three of them.

Cross appraised her through lowered lids. He seemed amused by her. His eyes flickered to Rigsby. "What do you think, son? Think I killed ole Jimmy?"

"Yes." No hesitation. No accusation. Honesty.

"Why's that? You remember him from the old days?" Cross leaned forward slightly, genuinely curious.

Rigsby hadn't moved since they sat down, his back settled firmly against the chair, his arms on the rests. He gave the impression of laxity. Anyone other than a girlfriend or father might have been fooled. "Tall guy? Light brown hair? Cajun accent?"

Cross nodded, slight surprise registering in his dark blue eyes. "Yeah, that was him. You remember his accent, huh?"

Rigsby gave a stiff nod. "He called me 'meenoo'."

Cross guffawed heartily. "He did at that. I'd forgotten. Little cat, he said. Thought you had excellent reflexes for such a young'un."

Rigsby didn't react. "Did you? Kill him?"

The smile slipped from Cross's face and he regarded his son very carefully. Another stare down ensured. Grace sat quietly. Respectfully. Even an idiot could feel the tangle of good guy/bad guy and father/son issues strangling the very air. She would not add to it by pressuring their suspect.

At last, Cross spoke.

"Yes."

Rigsby cocked his head. "You freely admit to killing James Archer?"

"Correct."

"Can you tell us what happened?" Grace ventured her question.

Cross smiled almost kindly at her. "For you, pretty Grace, anything. Jimmy used to truck with us until he broke off to form his own gang. Fuckin' ingrate. He'd been with us a long time. His lack of loyalty was…unfortunate. We ran into him at the Sidewinder and he started taking some cheap potshots." He looked Grace dead in the eye.

"That shit doesn't hold much water with me, Miss Van Pelt."

Grace nodded, her eyes wide. He continued.

"I called him out. We fought. I got the upper hand and I knifed him in the lower back," he said in a chillingly conversational tone. "Liver, if I had to guess where I hit him. The blood was almost black. He bled out in minutes." He watched her reaction in with distant curiosity. "How does that sit with you?"

Grace swallowed, but never broke eye contact. "Factually, it fits the coroner's report and eye witness accounts."

He chuckled darkly. "How does it sit with _you_, Grace?" She wasn't sure what he was trying to get at, but it felt like he wanted her to admit that she found his lack of remorse disturbing. She shrugged.

"It sits fine, Cross. _Someone _knifed James Archer and let him bleed out. That fact that it was you means nothing to me."

Grace couldn't be sure, but she could have sworn she saw admiration slowly building in the old man's eyes. Her answers seemed to please him. Her lack of fear and casual politeness seemed to entertain him. As his middle finger swept suggestively over the tabletop, she kept her relaxed, indifferent mien. He watched her for several seconds before suddenly turning to Rigsby.

"Son, I want you to take a walk."

Rigsby stiffened noticeably in his chair. "What?"

"You heard me. Quid pro quo. I gave you Jimmy, now I want my turn. And I want to talk to your lady friend, here. Alone."

"Abso-_fuckin_-lutely not." Rigsby hissed low across the table. His tenuous hold on his rage broke like a toothpick. He'd been a good boy for the whole of this conversation, but leaving Grace alone with this murdering bastard wasn't in the cards…or in the entire casino. He stood up and leaned over into Cross's face. "I stay with her. Period."

Cross, unconcerned, barely cocked his head upwards. "Jack Ripley," he drawled. "Pedro Sanchez. Cody Croydon. Wild Bill Defrane. Iggy Detweiler…and so forth."

"Who are these men?" Grace asked.

Cross gazed up through lowered lids at Rigsby. Smug. "Oh, men that are no longer among us. Men who succumbed to occupational hazards. Sad, sad stories all."

"Other people he's murdered," Rigsby informed Grace without looking at her, his eyes glued to the man in front of him. His biceps, without the camouflage of his suit, rippled angrily in his t-shirt. His neck muscles flared. He looked that close to killing his father with his bare hands.

"Perhaps," Cross mused. "Perhaps they are. Leave me with Grace and I'll attempt more fuckin' transparency on the subject upon your return."

Grace stood up. "Give us a minute." Cross nodded with exaggerated graciousness as she pulled Rigsby into the observation room. He yanked his arm from her grasp and stomped across the room, his hands scrubbing hard into his hair.

"No fuckin' way is he talking to you _alone_!" he spat angrily. His eyes were huge and flashed furiously at her. He looked positively murderous. Grace centered herself and stayed calm.

"Five people, Wayne. He named five possible murder victims and insinuated that he was responsible. We need to explore it. Me interrogating him alone isn't a serious compromise."

"Of _course_ it fucking is!" Rigsby's voice echoed off the recording equipment.

Her chin jutted angrily. "You wouldn't think so if he were asking for Cho. Or Jane. Am I so incapable?" Her calm was making a quick exit. Did he really think she wasn't able to question Cross properly? That she needed his protection?

Rigsby lunged at her and took her roughly by her shoulders. "I'm not crazy in love with fucking Cho or Jane, goddammit! You! You are _all _that I have and he's asking to be alone with you!" He shook her with each sentence. "This man, he destroys everything he touches. He broke me. He broke Sarah. He broke dozens of others and he doesn't give a shit. He's a sociopath and a bastard and he can't have you, you hear me? He CAN'T have you!" Rigsby yanked her hard against his chest and crushed her in his arms. "He can't," he murmured in her hair. His hands splayed wide across her back, shielding her from Cross, from the contamination that Rigsby was certain he'd bring into their lives.

Grace put her arms around him and held him close. His t-shirt was soft under her fingers and she immediately began tracing the ridges of his back, like she'd done many times before. "I have to," she whispered softly. She felt rage pulsing through him.

A few seconds ticked by.

"I know," he choked angrily.

"Hey," she chided, looking up from his chest. "What did we agree on, huh? He can't hurt us here, right? He's just playing with us because he's bored. We'll play along and hope we get more information. We already have one confirmed homicide. Yay us. Now let me go in there and get some more."

Rigsby snorted as he ran his fingers along the nape of her neck. "I have half a mind to pull rank on you, rookie. Forbid you from talking to him."

Grace smiled wanly. He'd never pull rank, she knew that much. And him joking about it was an encouraging sign. "Stay in here. You can watch the whole time. Hey," she cupped his cheek. "You're stronger than this, okay? That guy in there?" She pointed her finger at Cross. "Only proves how hard you fought to become the man you are. Just stay strong," she smiled. "For me."

She watched reason and fury battle for dominance in his eyes before he stepped back, signaling his agreement. "I'm right here," he said. "The second you need me, I'll be right here."

Grace exhaled slowly and nodded. "I know."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grace walked back in. Alone.

Cross gave her a nod of approval as she walked back to the table and sat down.

"My boy continues to amaze. I never thought he'd allow you to come back in here all by your lonesome."

Grace felt herself rile up at the suggestion that Wayne 'allowed' her to do anything, but since he was her superior, it was begrudgingly a fair comment. She pushed down her annoyance. "He has no reason to worry, does he Cross?" she asked innocently.

His hands splayed open on the table. "Exactly. Just two people havin' a conversation." His eyes sparkled, telling her that he meant no such thing.

"So," he began coolly. "Now that I've given you Jimmy, mind if I pose a question or two? Seein' as how I may have information on others and all? I imagine they sweeten the deal, so to speak."

Grace nodded politely. "You may ask. I can't guarantee any answers. I hope that's acceptable to you."

Cross ran his tongue over his teeth. She still wasn't comfortable with the almost perfect exactness of his and Rigsby's facial features. It was almost as if her lover's lips and tongue were in front of her, moving in foreign, bold mannerisms. The same eyes, only a slightly darker shade of blue, regarding her with the same naked appreciation. The same formidable jaw line, the same muscles working back and forth as he clicked his teeth in the exact same way that Rigsby did. And he was using them on her.

That was the biggest difference, despite the age gap.

Cross was confident enough to use his looks as part of his thrall. Rigsby was far too shy to even realize he had that kind of power. Many women could easily be seduced by Rigsby if he'd fallen closer to the tree, just as many women had no doubt fallen for Cross's charms in the past.

But Grace wasn't most women. Male seduction methods, by and large, gave her the creeps. Another reason she was grateful that the man before her had passed on his handsome features to his son…and that was all.

He leaned forward slightly and used a hushed, deep timbre. "You in love with my boy, Grace Van Pelt?"

Grace didn't blink. She did, however, thank God that she'd turned off the cameras on the way back in. If Cross blabbed to the local PD about their relationship, she'd simply deny it. "Yes."

"Aaaaaah, honesty." Cross nodded approvingly. "I'll say it again, he did good by you, little girl." He tipped back in his seat and propped his heavy boots onto Rigby's empty chair. She felt it rattle under their weight. "Tell me why."

"Why do I love him?"

He nodded.

Grace kept her eyes wide. Non-judgmental. Factual. "Because he's everything you're not."

His lack of response surprised her. She expected him to get angry. Instead, he seemed to carefully consider her answer. She remembered from yesterday that she felt he had no vanity. Perhaps she'd been right on the money. He had no ego to bruise.

"Elaborate."

Grace couldn't help her half-smile. He might be a sociopath. And a bastard. But his mixture of liberal swearing, deliberately poor grammar, and five-dollar words was…amusing.

"Fine. By all accounts, Wayne should be dead. Or in jail. Or a wanted fugitive riding a '53 Indian and gutting other thugs over bullshit territory disputes. Instead he's…" Grace paused, looking for a word that encompassed everything about his kindness, his bravery, his innate goodness. "…he's absolutely pure."

She leveled a colder gaze at him. Copper met sapphire. She didn't flinch. "You dragged him through a childhood of ungodly abuse and misery and he managed to emerge shiny and perfect on the other side." Still factual. Infinitely more accusatory.

"That's why I love him."

Cross sat, processing. Grace found her surprise rising again. No anger or defense met her indictments. Just quiet thought. She decided to turn the tables.

"May I ask a question, Cross?"

His brows arched and his chin dropped in subtle agreement.

"Why _did_ you beat him? Why keep him with you at all? Why let Sarah drag him all over the state chasing you? I mean, Jesus," she shook her head in sickened awe. "Did you feel _anything _for him? At all?"

She hated asking these questions knowing that Rigsby was watching, but for chrissakes, she just had to know.

Cross surprised her yet again. Something akin to regret crossed his features. Not shame. Certainly not remorse. But a pale, third cousin of regret, definitely. It disappeared, quick as a lightening strike.

"Jack Ripley. Small-time shithead out of San Bernadino who ran dope. Sold some bad horse to my crew. Really fucked us up. Frank Zapato, one of my best guys, OD'd on it. I shot Jack twice in the neck. A .38 Special, if I recall."

_Fuck!_ Grace panicked. _The cameras were still off._ "Will you submit that in writing?"

Cross jerked his hand dismissively. "Fuckin' naturally."

Grace paused, wanting more details about the murder, but also annoyed that he'd deflected her questions. Should she ask again? Her eyes swept over Cross's impressively large body. It broke her heart to imagine him hitting a six-year-old boy. There was far too much power in those limbs. And little boys were so small. So small. She chose the job.

"And the others you mentioned? Four other names?"

"Tomorrow," he grated, sounding irked despite the change of subject.

"Tomorrow? Cross, we can't keep dragging this out. We're needed back in Sacramento. We're grateful for your cooperation, but we need answers and we need them now."

Cross waved a finger at her. "I'd suggest you call your superiors in Sac, then. Ask if an extra day or two is worth wrapping up four unsolved murders on the California books. I'm happy to wait."

Grace sighed heavily, resting her elbows on the table. She knew—just as he knew—that her boss would tell her to stay and continue to question him, especially if the Archer and Ripley confessions held water. Grace was positive they did.

"You win." She rested her chin in her hand and gazed at him candidly. "But why? Why keep us here? Why torture Wayne like this?"

Cross also settled his elbows on the table and leaned forward. His face only six inches away from hers. Grace knew she should be frightened. This man was a killer. Remorseless. He dangled women like her for fun. He beat them. He beat children. And he used this charm technique on hundreds; she was the latest in the chain.

And yet. Grace looked carefully into the eyes right in front of her and felt a bizarre, reckless and completely unwanted emotion.

Affinity.

She couldn't understand it. She definitely didn't like it. There was no reason to feel anything but abhorrence for him. But Cross, like Grace, was a straight shooter. But it made sitting with him and talking to him honestly so much easier. She couldn't swear to it, but he seemed equally willing to speak to her for that reason. It bothered her that it didn't bother her more.

"My asking for my boy was for my own reckoning. Reasons, like everything else in this fuckin' world, are personal. But you get that, don't you, Grace?" Was he always going to hiss her name so sensually? Just like Rigsby? Nothing like Rigsby?

"All right then. We'll come back tomorrow. Can you assure me that you'll discuss the other men you mentioned? Please?" Grace knew it was silly, but maybe Rigsby's helplessness against her pleas was hereditary. Worth a shot, anyway.

Cross smirked indulgently. "You have my word."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rigsby waited outside of the LAPD building while Grace ran to the bathroom. When she came out, she had the biggest canary-eating grin he'd ever seen. He wasn't in the mood to return it after watching that gut-wrenching interview, but his brows went up in curiosity anyway.

She held her hand up and jingled a strange set of keys between her fingers. "Wanna piss your dad off?"

His snorted softly and shook his head in confusion. She bit lip playfully and dropped the keys in his hand. "His bike is still in impound behind the building." She dipped her eyes shyly and looked up at him from under her lashes. "Wanna take me for a ride?"

Rigsby's eyes widened in surprise at he looked at the keys in his hand more carefully. Sure enough. He remembered these old, worn keys as they danced back and forth in the ignition during their long, hot hauls across the state. Cross often carried Wayne in those days. Told him that unless he was the lead dog, the scenery never changed. Wayne hadn't understood at the time. The scenery never changed anyway. Just endless stretches of highway and an old keychain bouncing endlessly in front of him. He had stared at them for hours, just as he was staring at them now.

He dropped the keys back into her hand.

"No."

Her face fell a little. She looked down at them before glancing back up. "How come?"

"Because I hate bikes, Grace. You know I do." He tried to keep his voice calm.

"Just like you hate the woods," she countered softly. She wasn't trying to push him. She just wanted to make a point.

"Exactly. I hate these things. Look, baby, this case is hard enough. I don't need more shit I can't stand being thrown at me. Take them back." He gestured to the set.

She looked absolutely crestfallen. "Okay," she murmured, looking down at her hand again. Rigsby instantly felt like a heartless bastard. His gut twisted again when she looked up at him with a hurt expression. "So you didn't like yesterday? In the forest? It made you unhappy?"

Oh, god. His chest squeezed painfully at her small, heartrending words. She couldn't seriously think that. Not after she stroked his body into a frenzy of mind-blowing pleasure, giving to him what—until recently—he would never have dared to even hope for. She knew that, surely. …..Didn't she?

He closed his hands over the keys in her palm and pulled her close. "Yesterday was amazing. _You're_ amazing. Didn't you hear me upstairs? You're _everything_ to me. Everything. That's why I can't let Cross poison us, just like he poisons everything else."

Grace pushed back slightly from his chest. "Rigsby," she started uncertainly. "You know what you're supposed to do when you're bitten by a snake, right?"

He cocked his head at her. "You mean, like on the leg? Don't they say you need to slice the wound and suck the poison out?"

She nodded quickly. "Exactly. You're so worried about getting bitten again that you're not sucking out the poison that's already there. The forest is beautiful, sweetheart. Bikes?" She jangled the keys in front of him again. "Are fun. Instead of hating these things because of Cross and your bad memories of them, maybe you should start making new ones." She looked down shyly. "With me."

Rigsby frowned, but mulled her words.

Grace. His beautiful, wise, wonderful angel. Her red hair fell over her eyes as she continued to gaze downward. Of course she was right. Fuck, it was probably already working. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to look at a redwood forest again without getting a hard-on. That was definitely a new development. He looked at the keys in her hand. Those fucking keys. He stomped his anger down and looked at them properly. Keys. They're just keys. Little pieces of metal that didn't emote or inflict pain. They just started the engine to a bike. A cherry of a bike.

Yes. She was absolutely right. Cross wasn't allowed to ruin things for him anymore. Especially things that Grace loved. And she loved trees. Just like she loved big engines and lots of speed. She wanted to look for witches in gingerbread houses and hold him tight on the back of a bike. Yeah, those were good things. Fuckin' fantastic things.

A smile spread slowly across his lips. His fingers tipped her chin up to look at him. She saw his smile and smiled back in relief. Without breaking eye contact, he took the keys from her hand.

"Baby? Have you ever seen a 1977 Harley Davidson Low Rider?"

She smiled wider. "Show me?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The 1977 Harley Davidson Low Rider.

Sitting proudly between various sedans and other bikes, it was like walking up to a champion racehorse among circus ponies. Completely black. Muscular. Low-slung seat. Impressive engine. Protruding front wheel. Beautiful customization.

Even for Grace, who was no stranger to classic Americana vehicles, this was one sexy chopper.

"Wow," she whispered appreciatively.

Rigsby nodded as they stared at it. "She's pretty, isn't she?"

"I might leave you for her," Grace murmured teasingly as she reached out and reverently ran her finger along the striking curvature. Rigsby chuckled softly.

"Next you're going to tell me you've never ridden in your life. Right before you pop a wheelie and jump her through a ring of fire." He arched his brow in playful accusation.

Grace snickered. "The saying, 'She's too much car for you' applies, here. She's too heavy for little old me." She gave him a pouty little grin. "So? How 'bout a ride, mister?"

Rigsby ran his eyes over the bike, as if reacquainting himself with her, before throwing his leg over the side and settling into the deep seat. His long frame slouched back seductively, his long legs gripped either side. His strong hands gripped the handles. He was instantly a man in his element. He cocked his head and gave her a sheepish shrug.

"What do you think?"

"I take it back," she bit her lips in arousal. "_You_ two were made for each other."

He snorted as he jammed the key into the ignition, turning them before he stood up halfway and—increasing Grace's heady desire—smashed his heel down and kick-started the engine to life. The machine roared joyously under his body. He gunned it a bit, running his hand lightly over the acceleration grip. It rumbled and reverberated through the air, purring like a tiger.

Grace couldn't help it. Her core was instantly wet.

"We don't have helmets," he called over the noise.

She wiggled her brows at him and gestured to their sunglasses tucked into their collars. "Then we'll just stay off the busy roads."

He shook his head in amusement and put on his shades. "And to think we're cops." He jerked his head suggestively. "Jump on."

Grace squealed and skipped to the back, straddling the back of the seat and settling tightly against him. They were wedged in, she had to brace her feet against the passenger pedals and press fully into his weight, her arms immediately seeking anchorage around his waist. The engine emitted heavy vibrations that passed through both of them. She felt it through his back, through her calves, and between her thighs. Her mouth dropped slightly against his jacket as she let the erotic sensations wash over her.

Wayne had to admit it. He may have hated this bike as a child, but as a man, sitting in it properly with a sexy woman pressed tightly into his ass, it was quickly starting to grow on him. Unlike 23 years ago, he could see clearly over the bars. Unlike 23 years ago, he was in control of where it took him. Over the purr of the engine, he heard Grace moan softly against his back. Oh yes. He was definitely warming to this bike.

With a smug, Fuck You smirk firmly in place, Rigsby kicked the stand away and rolled his dad's pride and joy out of the impound and onto the open road. His old driving lessons from the gang roared back, just like the engine beneath him. He might have been a kid, but he'd paid attention. And now that he could properly handle the weight, it was literally just like riding a bike. And Christ, did it handle beautifully. The juice in this beast was amazing. It responded to the slightest touch.

_Like Grace._

He chuckled as he pushed his speed up, taking her from 50 to 70mph along a quiet road leading out of the city. He felt Grace grip his chest harder, bunching her fists into his t-shirt and shrieking with delight. Her breasts were pressed into his back and he groaned at the feel of her sculpted so sensually against him. She'd been so right. This was them, doing whatever the hell they wanted. Cross had nothing to do with it. Redwoods, motorcycles and many other things had existed _long_ before he showed up and fucked Rigsby's perception of them. If Rigsby wanted to ride, he could. If he wanted to hike in a national forest, he would. And right now? He was taking his girlfriend somewhere he remembered from his past. Somewhere beautiful. It might not be the woods, but southern California still had a lot to offer his prairie girl.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They sped along a narrow highway for about an hour before they broke through suburbia and hit the desert. Joshua trees waved at them from the sea of sand and sagebrush. The clean, pure smell of arid vegetation and zero humidity filled their noses and shot through their hair. Barren mountain ranges surrounded them on all sides. A stark landscape. Almost lunar. Undeniably beautiful.

Grace pointed and laughed and sighed at the foreign ecosystem. Rigsby smiled, feeling her happiness radiate into him. He slowed and turned off onto a dirt road, taking them deeper into the desert for about two miles before coming to a large pile of boulders surrounded by Joshua trees. He drove the bike around to the shady side before killing the engine. The sudden loss of vibration and sound caused the immediate silence to feel deafening.

Grace quickly hopped off the back, only to pivot, throw her leg in front of him, and straddle his lap. She giggled like a schoolgirl before cupping his face and swooping in on him.

"Thank you (kiss) thank you (kiss) thank you (kiss) thank you!" Words and kisses rained on his cheeks, chin and nose. He laughed and grabbed her hips for balance as she pulled back, her grin putting the desert sun to shame.

"That was incredible! We're stealing this bike. And this place!" She swiveled her head in all directions before bringing her gaze back to him. "Where are we?"

Rigsby cast his eyes to the soft, sandy indentations of chopper wheels at their feet. "We're at an Outlaw stop. See there?" He pointed to a faded burn mark in the sand. "Campfire. But don't worry," he said when he saw her eyes go round. "They haven't been here in months. See this?" He reached over and ran his fingers down a strange set of letters and numbers on one of the boulders. "These are the initials and dates of the gangs. The last one was here…in March." He turned to her and smiled. "I doubt another gang will show up in the next hour."

Grace leaned into him and captured his lips, taking her time to kiss him thoroughly. Her arms went around his neck and she pulled her legs up to wrap them around his waist. Still holding the bike up with his legs, Rigsby growled softly into her mouth while his heel kicked blindly until it connected with the kickstand. Once the bike was secure, he gripped her thighs and opened her wider and harder against him, deepening their kiss and plumbing her mouth with his tongue.

She moved her kiss to his jaw and his head dropped back, giving her the access she wanted as she drew long, wet kisses down his throat. "I am so in love with you," she moaned into his skin.

"Because I'm so pure?" She heard teasing in his voice.

She pulled back, locking her eyes onto his. "Among other things."

His brow arched suggestively. "Such as?"

She arched hers in return. "Because you're so achingly fuckable when you sit on this chopper."

His teasing expression disappeared. He cupped her ass and yanked her hard against him, grinding their pelvises, creating delicious friction between their two sets of jeans. Grace moaned and leaned back against the engine block, spreading herself open for his hands to explore. They instantly ran up her t-shirt, circling her bellybutton before traveling north to cup her breasts through her bra. She threw her head back and whimpered.

"Jesus Christ, baby." His dark, sandpapery voice. A gift from his father. Grace stomped the thought the moment it sprang up. She opened her eyes and gazed at Wayne. _Her _Wayne. She shoved her hips against his as she balanced on him and the bike.

"I want you to fuck me," she whispered hotly to him. She immediately pulled her baby tee off and reached back to unhook her bra. "Right now."

"No!" he barked at her, pulling her upright and stopping her hands. She mewled in disappointment, thinking he didn't want to make love in this place, with all of the issues he had with it, but he only dismounted it and dragged her off with him. He turned her roughly away and clamped his hands over the hooks over her bra. "Mine," he hissed into her ear as he released the catch and slid the straps down her arms. His hands cupped her breasts hungrily, weighing and molding them as his nipped and sucked at her throat.

"Yes!" she groaned in relief. She tilted her head to the side and let him bite her gently, leaving wet circles that instantly cooled and dried in the desert heat. "More," she whispered pleadingly. "Touch me more."

"Unzip your pants," he ordered. Her fingers shot to the button and snapped it loose before pulling the zipper all the way down.

"Talk to me," she murmured as she slid them passed her thighs. "Tell me what you're thinking."

One hand drifted from her breast and slid down her taut stomach and into her panties. He hissed when he found her so slippery and dripping that she instantly coated his fingers. He wet them thoroughly before sliding them up to massage her tight little bud. She cried out and bucked her ass into his groin.

"I'm thinking that I'm going to strip you naked and take you right here on this black bitch," he jerked his head towards the bike.

"Yeeees," Grace moaned longingly as she kicked off her shoes and stepped out of her jeans.

"I'm thinking that I want your come to wash all over it. All over me." He smacked her ass lightly, making her sob as his fingers continued to rub and roll and flick her. "I want to fuck you so hard that every time I see a chopper," he bit her earlobe. "I come right there in my pants."

Grace yanked his hands away and turned in his arms, ripping at his pants and pulling his raging erection out of his fly. He went to pull them down from his hips, but she stopped him. "No. Stay dressed." She pushed him to straddle the seat once again. "I want to fuck you just the way you are."

Rigsby expected her to straddle his lap as she'd done before, but she had to go and give him a stroke by turning away and straddling the bike. In front of him. He was standing partially, which gave her room to pull her knees up onto the seat and slid her legs under his. She gripped the handles and arched her back, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

"Please," she begged softly, her wet center inviting and unbearably sweet as she offered herself to him. "I need you. Hard as you can."

"Oh, baby," he moaned softly. He stood up more fully, grounding his heels into the sand before bringing his cock forward to brush along her entrance. "You're so unbelievably sexy." He ran his hands over the hourglass of her hips and waist as his tip slipped easily between her soaking lips. "You're so hot that I just want to break my dick off in you."

"Do it," she cried impatiently. Goddamn him, he knew that dirty talk drove her crazy. "Give it to me."

He growled loudly and complied, gripping her hips and thrusting deeply. "Fuck!" he roared as her tight body swallowed him whole, clenching him so hard that he nearly passed out with ecstasy.

Grace sobbed and reared back, her body expanding with excruciating pleasure at her lover's presence. "Oh, fuck yes!" she screamed. Why not? Who would hear her?

Rigsby pulled back and drove in hard again, grunting with pleasure as she swore with hers. "You like this, baby? Getting fucked on a Harley in the middle of a desert?"

"Oh God, yes," she whispered fiercely, looking over her shoulder to watch him pump wildly into her. With her legs firmly shut between his, his cock slid against her inner thighs, creating a second source of friction that had her gasping and whimpering for more. "You feel so good, Wayne. So so good."

He could feel his cock grow even harder at her words, if that was possible. "Raise your hips, baby. Open up to me. Thaaaaat's it. Oh, Jesus. I could fuck you for hours, Grace. You hear me? I could stand here all day holding your gorgeous ass and watching my cock slide inside of you. Just. Like. This." He rammed home with each word.

"Pleeeease," she moaned, her brain on fire with the images he poured into her head. She nearly broke her spine as she arched as far as she could to allow for deepest penetration. "Touch me," she whimpered.

"Where?" he growled.

"Everywhere. Rub my clit. Help me come. I need to come so bad, baby, please."

He suddenly pulled out and she cried out with frustration. "No!"

"Turn over. I want your eyes, Grace."

She flipped instantly, learning back into the engine block and handles like before. It wasn't comfortable. She didn't notice. Her legs went around his jean-clad hips as he nudged into place and plunged deeply. They groaned together in relief.

"Fuck, you're so wet. What gets you this _hot_?" He held her hips to steady them both as he pounded hard inside of her. His eyes burned into hers. God, she loved this game. He wanted something from her. As his index finger rolled her clit and made her spasm with pleasure, she gave it to him. Like always.

"You make me wet, Wayne. You make me hot." She broke off and sobbed as he massaged her faster in reward. "I want to fuck you all the time. At work. At home. In the middle of the fucking desert—aaah!" His thrusts were getting harder. Faster.

"YES!" she cried out. "So close, baby, so close."

"You gonna come for me?"

"Yes!"

"You gonna burn me up and tear me to pieces when you do?"

"Yes! God, yes. I'll come so hard for you. I promise."

His speed exploded and the pressure on her clit spiked and nearly struck her blind.

A whisper. Dark. Frightening. Enthralling. "Come for me, Grace."

Light exploded in her body and every muscle went rigid. Her lungs froze with shock before overwhelming ecstasy detonated in every cell, destroying her with pleasure. Every nerve flared outward, then drew in, dragging her lover into the blast radius. She screamed louder than she ever had before. No neighbors could hear her. There was no one for miles. She came harder than she ever had. For him.

Rigsby was nearly knocked flat. First, as Grace ripped and dragged and burned her way through him as she rode out her orgasm, second as his own body blew up inside of her and caused a chain reaction in his entire nervous system. His scream quickly overrode hers as he bellowed her name in hot, exquisite agony. He felt his semen shoot out like canon fire. The recoil alone almost threw him clear. Meanwhile, a lit fuse had reached his brain and blew it straight into the stratosphere. It took him ages to come back down. And when he did, he could only hold one thought.

Holy Christ, was that good.

The echoes of their screams died away as they panted harshly. Grace lay spent and boneless in front of him, her arms barely able to keep her steady. Not sure he could even trust his own legs, he took her hands and levered her up to sit in his lap, their bodies still locked together.

Just amazing.

Plus, there was whole cathartic experience of fucking his one true love on top of the only thing his father had ever cared for that left him feeling lightheaded and dizzy with satisfaction.

It all made for a sexual experience that nearly took his head off.

"Wow," she whispered breathlessly.

"Yeah," he agreed, wrapping his arms around her waist to keep her up. "Wow."

"Wayne, I just…I mean…wow," She was having trouble making coherent sentences.

He chuckled throatily and nuzzled her nose with his. "Wow just about covers it," he agreed.

"Not even close. I don't think they've invented a word for what that was." She snuggled in close, the beautiful sheen of sweat covering her breasts quickly transferred to his t-shirt. As she held him tight, she giggled softly. "So. Does this mean you don't hate bikes anymore?"

"Oh, babe," he whispered softly in her hair. "Mission accomplished. I'll definitely lose it every time I see one from this day on."

"Excellent," she sighed contentedly. "Now, I think we have just enough time for me to get dressed and for us to get back on the road in time for dinner."

He caressed her back and nodded. "Sounds good."

She extracted herself as gracefully as she could and started pulling on clothes as she found them. "Oh, and Wayne? We're definitely stealing that bike."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

After they dropped the bike back at the impound and picked up their SUV, they went back to their hotel room. After their little caper in the desert heat, she'd wanted a quick shower before heading out to dinner. As she stripped out of her t-shirt and jeans, Rigsby distracted himself from her little peep show by calling Lisbon.

"Hey boss." He turned towards the window with the phone is his hand. Somehow, even looking at Grace as she undressed while talking to their leader felt dangerous. He worried that between sentences about Cross's confession he might blurt out how much he loved her heart-shaped ass or how much he wanted to plant his dick permanently in her mouth. Lisbon and Grace, he was fairly sure, wouldn't approve. He didn't think he was it was a serious possibility, but when it came to his idiocy where Grace was involved, it was best not to tempt fate. He riveted his eyes on their unremarkable view of the parking lot and kept them there as she searched her bag for her toiletry kit in the nude.

"Rigsby. I got a call from the LAPD today. It sounds like you're making progress." She sounded mutely pleased. "Any reason why I heard from them first?"

Rigsby shrugged unthinkingly. "Sorry about that. Did they have any info on Jack Ripley and the others he named as murder victims?"

"Yep," she affirmed. "Jack Ripley, Cody Croydon, William 'Wild Bill' Defrane, Pedro Sanchez and Ignatius 'Iggy' Detweiler. All deceased. The information and ballistics he gave on Ripley were dead-on. The others are all unsolved. Gang violence was suspected, but never proven." She paused. "You and Van Pelt have done extremely well to even get him to admit that he knew these people. Their corpses were scattered all over the state. It would have been impossible to tie Cross directly."

Rigsby sighed heavily. "I'd like to take credit, boss, but the truth is that he's telling us because he wants to. Fuck knows why, but he's using these cases as leverage to keep us here."

"You think he's lying about his involvement?"

"I think he's fucking around with us and I don't like it. I mean, _Jesus_, boss. Why now? Why even get caught in the first place? A murder from five years ago? Cross made a career out of staying under the radar, now he's been pinched and he's singing like a nightingale. I have no doubt he killed these people, but why tell us? Why tell _me_?" Rigsby palmed the back of his neck in frustration.

"Atonement?"

Rigsby barked a dry, humorless laugh.

Lisbon exhaled loudly. "Fine, not atonement. But it doesn't really matter. If he can give details and is willing to confess, I don't give a damn why he's saying it or whom he's saying it to. Just get his confessions for Sanchez, Detweiler, Defrane and Croydon. The LAPD will get credit for the bust and love us forever. The peasants will rejoice and blah blah blah."

Rigsby smiled wanly. The shower kicked on in the bathroom and he was instantly plagued by both memories and fantasies of Grace lathering up under the spray. His hands twitched with knowledge and desire. His eyes were dragged to the closed door separating them. Her clothes were scattered in a trail that led right to it, her bra and panties discarded at journey's end. Bread crumbs. He shook his head and cursed her ability to distract him so easily. She didn't even need to be in the same room. Just knowing what she was doing was torture enough. He cleared his throat, hoping it cleared his mind.

"We'll do our best, boss."

"I know it. Call me tomorrow." She hung up.

He tossed his phone onto the bed and walked to the bathroom door. Unusually, she was quiet behind it. Normally he caught her singing softly as she washed her body and hair with girly products that smelled like orchards and candy that drove him to distraction. Surprisingly, she had a lovely singing voice. It was low and sweet, like the women crooners from the fifties that his grandmother had loved. The first time he had heard her, he'd mentally flipped through the busty canaries he remembered on the LP covers until he came to the one Grace most reminded him of.

Rita Hayworth. Another redhead, he'd noticed amusedly.

He put his ear to the door and listened intently, hoping to hear a few notes through the thin wood.

Nothing.

She probably didn't want to risk Lisbon hearing her. A smart move, really, but Rigsby was disappointed nonetheless. Without knocking, he pushed it open and walked into the steam.

"Hey, babe," he said as he sat down on the toilet lid.

She turned at his voice and regarded him through the steamed-up shower door. He saw her smile through the haze. She pressed her hands into the glass and wiped a clear window so they could see each other more clearly. Her hair was swept up in a clip to keep it dry. A few tendrils had escaped and were clinging damply to her cheeks. Just like every other time he looked at her, his chest squeezed with joy.

"Hey. What's the word?"

"From the office? Keep up the good work. From me? You're a knockout and I'm crazy about you." His eyes roved over her outline, almost obscured by the steam.

She snorted softly. "Cute. But what about the names?"

"Ah," he said wearily, "it appears as though my old man was telling the truth. All of them are unsolved murders. Jack Ripley checked out." He tipped his head back and let out a breath. "There may be no honor among thieves, but apparently there's honesty among killers."

Grace regarded him through the rapidly re-fogging window that she'd made. "Any thoughts about why he's been so darned obliging?"

Still looking up, he shook his head. "Nope. I can't think of a single goddamn reason why he'd let himself be caught, confess to multiple murders, and want to see me. It just doesn't make any sense. Cross—," his frustration caused a bottleneck of words in his throat. He tried again. "Cross doesn't help people, so he's not here for me. He doesn't let his guard down, so he wasn't captured unawares. And he doesn't…he…just… _doesn't_. Fuck."

Grace could hear his aggravation building again. She turned off the shower and slid the glass door open. "Hand me a towel?"

He instantly stood up and grabbed a white towel from the signature stack and passed it to her. "Feel better?"

She smiled warmly at him as she slid the stiff cotton over her arms and legs. "I felt good to begin with. Just a little sticky." She gave him a rueful glance as she pulled the towel around her back. Rigsby stepped towards her, holding out his hands. "Let me?"

She passed the towel to him and turned her back to him. Slowly, he patted it gently along her shoulders, trailing it down her spine and out again to her ribs. The beads of water absorbed into the plain white cloth, leaving flawless, soft skin in its wake. He took his time, petting her instead of drying her. She closed her eyes and hummed softly, enjoying the attention. She didn't realize he was edging closer until her heels brushed against his shoes. Suddenly the towel was opened up wide and his hands cupped her ass through the terrycloth. She laughed softly.

"You're insatiable," she accused in a whisper. She sensed him bending before his lips ghosted over her shoulder. He started with small, whispy kisses that graduated into long, languid, open-mouth sucks. By the time he reached her earlobe, she was leaning completely into his chest.

"You know you've enslaved me, don't you?" She felt his whisper over her damp skin as it reached her ear. The towel was climbing up her body as his hand dragged it upwards. He slid his hands forward, wrapping each end around her front and holding them in place as he hugged her.

Her eyes fell shut and she sighed happily. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather own."

He chuckled low in his chest. A deep sound. Grace swallowed. _So similar, their laughs_. She turned in his arms and reached up to cup his face. _Rigsby_, she reaffirmed silently. _My Rigsby_. Once she reassured herself that she was with her sweetheart and not….someone else, she smiled. "Seriously, Wayne. Are you okay?"

He smiled tiredly as his hands roved over her towel-covered back. One hand wandered to her hair clip and tugged. It unclasped and her bouncy locks avalanched onto her shoulders and tangled in his fingers. His eyes fluttered closed and his chest rumbled softly as he filled his hands with her mane.

"Christ, babe. With you as my owner, how could I not be?"

"C'mon, Wayne. I mean it. I need you to talk to me. This case has got to be dredging up all kinds of stuff for you. I don't want you to bury yourself in repression and sex until we get to leave."

His expression fell sharply at her words and she instantly regretted how they'd come out. She tugged her towel away from her and hugged him fiercely, as if somehow her nudity would better explain her worries and love.

"I'm here for you, however you need me," she clarified, searching his eyes. "But if you don't look this thing in the face, it'll own you," she paused. "And that's _my_ job."

His eyes brightened slightly at her attempt to be cute. "So, no sex until we leave? Is that what I'm hearing, here?"

"God, no!" she cried out in mock horror. "Why punish us _both_?" He chuckled, kissing her forehead soundly. "I just mean-,"

"I get it, babe," he interrupted. "Sex is not a crutch. This case sucks, but I need to face my daddy issues. That about cover it?"

"Perfectly," she grinned at him.

"Then I hear you. Thank you. I promise I'll keep talking to you, no matter how much I want to stay quiet. Just promise you won't hold out on me," he squeezed her ass gently. "I need sex with you, Grace. I know that sounds slimy, but I can't _not_ touch you. Touching you makes me whole."

She smiled softly and squeezed his ass in return. "Nothing you say is slimy. It's too honest to be slimy. I love it."

He growled softly as her hands dug into his muscles. His hands splayed wide over her ass and she felt his intention to hike her up onto his waist. "If you wanna eat, you better knock that off, missy."

"You started it," she shot back.

"And I'll finish it unless you turn heel and get dressed."

"Dirty tease." Grace pressed her skin into the delicious softness of his t-shirt and roughness of his jeans. It was ridiculous how much she wanted him, given that she'd just had the most debilitating orgasm of her life not two hours earlier. "God, Wayne," she murmured as she locked her arms around him, "how do you do this to me?" Her voice came out as a breathy squeak, as though she genuinely feared his power over her.

Suddenly cool air hit her bare breasts as he deliberately set her away from him. She couldn't help the disappointed whimper that escaped. He held her away by her shoulders and dipped his head to meet her eye to eye. "Get dressed, pretty girl. I'll take you out, then we'll come back here and I'll just _take _you." He smiled wickedly. "Sound good?"

Grace smirked back, turned heel and got dressed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Fuck, Grace! You just…you're so…fucking sweet…your mouth… please…just…..aaaah!...yes!...Christ, you suck me so good…aaaah!"

Grace pressed her palms flat against his jean-clad thighs and pushed him harder against the inside of the hotel room door as she knelt at his feet and sucked him hard and frantically. She'd spent all of dinner worrying that he honestly thought she'd refuse him during the case, that she wouldn't touch him, even though he needed her. As she watched him uncharacteristically pick at his meal, one fear after another leapt into her mind and amplified with every bite he didn't take.

Namely, that he thought she saw Cross when she was looking at him. He didn't say anything, but it'd be natural for such a thought to cross his mind. With every rough word Cross spoke and every mannerism he exhibited, Grace might see Rigsby. Conversely, with every word and gesticulation Rigsby gave, she might now see his father, the originator.

She feared that Rigsby feared this. She also feared that it might be true.

She would never, _ever _see a bad man when she looked at her lover, but she begrudgingly admitted to herself that she might _feel_ Cross' echo in his son. The voice, the body, the eyes, the contempt (one aimed at crime and one aimed at the law). She saw the similarities and instantly wanted to banish her awareness of them. It would hurt her man if he knew. She loved him more than ever, but knew that he'd recoil in shame and anger if she voiced her recognition of Cross in him.

She wanted to destroy any worries he might have on that score—on _any_ score—and the best way to achieve that was to throw him against a wall and devour him.

Rigsby was still the man he was five days ago, before she'd ever heard the name Delacroix. He was still everything he'd been before that damn phone call, except now he seemed so much sadder. It enraged her. His eyes were too bright, his smile too sweet. Melancholy didn't sit well on him at all. He was fighting it, she knew. And his current hell was temporary. But still. She was going to blow his mind free of sadness by blowing his body.

She ran her fingers firmly behind his balls as she rubbed his shaft between her cheek and tongue. He choked on a moan and banged his head hard into the door behind him.

_I love you!_ she screamed mentally at him, watching his head lull from side to side in delirious pleasure. _You're mine and I'll never leave you. Understand me, goddammit? You're so perfect I can't stand it. I'll give you everything. I'll protect you. I'll comfort you. Just be happy. Happy, you hear me?_

"Talk to me," she whispered, letting him slip from her mouth and working him with her hands. "Tell me something."

"Anything," he groaned, his hands cupping her head gently. She felt him restraining his instinct to grab firmly and just fuck blindly. She shuddered at the delicious, grainy video footage running in her mind of him doing just that; fucking her mouth wildly, feeding himself into her throat over and over until he roared and delivered her favorite dessert. She dragged her voice out through her lust.

"I'm going to suck you blind and I want you to tell me about the first time you fantasized about me."

He swore brokenly. "You want me to tell you that? You sure?"

She squeezed him at the base and he swore again. "Every detail. Got it?" She replaced her hands with her mouth again and took him deep, changing her tempo from her previous fast pace to a slow, lazy lollipop suck.

"Jeee-sus Christ! Grace…I can't…think…I don't…remember…_fuck_!"

"Talk," she released him and made him grunt with frustration as cold air hit him, "or I stop."

He looked down at her and made his eyes focus. She watched as he made his way through the chaos of his desire and accessed his memory banks. He sucked a ragged breath. "The first fantasy?"

She nodded, stroking him lightly, not giving him anywhere near the pressure he needed, but teasing him with the promise of continuation. The moment he opened his mouth, she took him deep.

"The first time…ah!...was your first day."

She looked up in surprise and found his eyes burning into hers, his face a tight mask of concentration.

"I wanted you immediately. I…oh, Jesus, Grace…I thought about kissing you softly at first…a beautiful, sweet stranger…you were so…ah, God…stunning…I couldn't stop myself. I wanted…" He paused and groaned as she wagged her tongue on each side of him before teasing it quickly over the head. She popped him free and prodded. "You wanted…?"

"Don't stop," he moaned loudly.

"Then don't stop," she countered softly, straightening her tongue into a point and tracing his slit, lapping up the precum that pooled there.

"Fuck, baby. I wanted to come all over your ass, that's what I wanted."

She sucked him hard and bobbed up and down rapidly.

"_Shit_! I wanted you to suck me off, just like you're doing now. Ah, _Christ_."

She cupped his balls and rubbed them against each other gently.

"Yesssss! Like that. Oh my God, I wanted to drag you home, rip your clothes off and fuck you until neither of us could walk."

She moaned loudly, feeling him getting closer. Oh God, his candidness was driving her crazy. She was dripping uncomfortably in her panties and her core was throbbing with his every word. It would be so easy to stop, to ask for him, to make it mutual, but she just couldn't form the words. This was her own auditory peep show and she didn't want it to end. She upped her suction to the intensity of a pool drain.

Rigsby lost it.

"I fucking loved you! I wanted to eat you alive! I wanted to father your children! I wanted-_FUUUUUUCK_!"

She held on, sucking with the same mind-blowing force as he emptied everything he had into her greedy mouth. His scream was terrifying in the close proximity of their hotel room. It exhilarated her. As he rocked and trembled above her, her oral strokes became softer and slower until finally, she let him slip from her mouth. His knees buckled, his body slowly collapsing in front of her as he slid down the door. He was panting heavily, his eyes shut and his head hanging limply to one side.

She smiled at the picture he made. An exhausted, sated man, still hanging freely and his jeans halfway down his legs. Not caring in the slightest, she settled into his groin and cuddled into his chest. It was hot and undulating harshly as he tried to catch his breath.

"So your first fantasy was a bit of a montage, wasn't it?" she teased quietly, not looking up.

"You have got…to…stop blowing me like that, baby," he wheezed between inhalations.

"Stop? Why? I thought you liked them." She knew he wasn't serious, and couldn't help be feel pleased by his breathless plea.

"They're so good, they're going to kill me. I can't stand how much I love fucking your mouth. I'm never able to think of anything else. One day I'll have a heart attack watching you. Quit being the perfect woman who loves sucking my dick. Men this lucky die young."

"Right," she snarked playfully. "We'll see how you feel about no oral sex in an hour or so. The gambler in me says you're bluffing."

He chuckled warmly and nodded. "Fair enough. I wouldn't back that horse either."

They untangled themselves and fell into bed, wrapping up into each other and sighing with contentment. After about ten minutes of just basking in the warmth and strength of Rigsby's arms, Grace spoke up.

"What do you think he'll tell us tomorrow?"

She felt no tensing in his muscles or change in his breathing. She felt encouraged by that.

"I just don't know, babe. I think I'm too tired to care anymore. I feel like a wet sheet that's been wrung and wrung and wrung. There's no more water left. It's just me, wrinkly and worn out."

Grace hummed softly in sympathy. "Maybe that will make it easier." She offered.

She felt him nod, but he said nothing.

Buried under the covers and clutching each other tightly, they fell into a deep sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

"Good mornin', pretty lady. Sleep well?" Cross nodded at them casually the next morning as they walked across the interrogation room and sat across from him. He wasn't wearing his leather jacket this time and his arms and chest muscles pushed rigidly against his black t-shirt as he reclined as best he could in the stiff, plastic chair.

"Very. You?" Grace kept her voice light and innocent and chose not to read anything smutty in his question.

He shrugged and cast his hand dismissively, silver glinting from every digit. "You know local jails, honey. Prolly only a notch or two lower than what the state sprung for your hotel."

She snorted softly. She sat back completely and let the sound of shuffling paper fill the room.

Rigsby hadn't even looked at the man. He was fervently organizing four files from a briefcase, laying them out carefully on the table facing Cross. Once they were arranged to his liking, he tapped the first one closest to him, only then bringing his eyes to the old man's.

"Cody Croydon," Rigsby prodded expectantly.

"Pure, unadulterated trash." Cross's immediate answer.

"Still illegal to kill trash, Cross. You wanna start with him?"

"That's an emphatic 'no'." Cross jerked his head hard and once in each direction.

Rigsby inhaled hard through his nose and brought his fist down onto the file in frustration. "So now you're denying your involvement in his murder?"

Cross snorted disdainfully. "Jesus, son. Who'd you fuck to get into this outfit? When I answer in the negative that I don't want to start with him, you should infer that _I don't want to start with him_. Phrase your replies more carefully or go back to fuckin' law school and learn how. Now," Cross looked down at the files in front of him and completely missed Rigby's violent flinch. Grace, however, did not.

She watched him carefully as he continued to start at Cross's lowered head. What did Cross mean, law school? It felt like a cheap shot at Rigsby and people who studied law in general, but Rigsby was looking at him so fiercely. Had Rigsby actually gone to law school? Had he studied to be a lawyer? This was certainly the first she'd heard of it. And if it were true, how the hell did Cross know about it?

She stored the questions for the time being and concentrated on Cross. "Who would you like to start with then, sir?" Her Midwestern politeness escaped before she could censor it.

Cross looked up from the table and smirked softly, knowing hammered-in manners when he heard them. "I bet you answer the phone like a proper little angel, don'tchu, Grace? Pleases and thank yous every day. Send out birthday and Christmas cards _weeks_ in advance. Pure, sweet sugar, aren't you?"

Grace didn't react. She didn't dare. But she felt Rigsby rise up dangerously next to her and worried that they'd lose another day to an angry, macho pissing match that ended with Rigsby storming out or Cross clamming up. The seeming inevitability annoyed her. _What is it with men, anyway?_ Didn't they understand there was work to be done? Well she, for one, wasn't prepared sit idly by with a handkerchief held to her breast while these two cowboys squared off. She didn't give a damn about men besmirching or defending her honor. What she gave a damn about was murder confessions. The quickest way to get this one was to just cut through the bullshit. She put her hand on Rigsby's thigh. _Stay_, she told him.

"Yes. To all counts. Except for the sugar part. I'm polite as hell, Cross, but I'm not all that sweet."

"Aaaaah," Cross said playfully, "I disagree, pretty Grace. But perhaps there's a bit of spice in that sugar. Makes perfect sense. My boy here used to love Hot Tamales more than any other candy. Bright red. So hot his eyes would water. But he ate the entire box. Insisted that he loved the burn." He scoffed darkly. "I guess he found the perfect woman. Bright red, spicy and sweet."

Grace gripped Rigsby's thigh harder and spoke first. "Exactly. You hit the nail on the head. Now, please," she drew the word out pointedly, "if not Croydon, then who do you want to start with?"

Without looking away from her, Cross brought his right hand over one of the folders and, with his middle finger, slid it slowly towards her. She dropped her eyes, then lifted to his again. "Defrane," she said.

"Defrane," he confirmed. "Back in '97, I believe. That fucker took a round of buckshot to the chest at close range. 'magine his heart and lungs looked like Swiss cheese on the slab."

"Why use buckshot?" Grace asked.

Cross' eyes slid towards Rigsby. "Son? Remember your lesson on shotguns?"

Rigsby coldly broke eye contact with him and turned to Grace. "There's no bullet type to match with buckshot. Police can't ID individual shotguns as easily in shooting victims."

"And?" Cross pressed him.

Rigsby pulled a face of extreme distain. "It's messy."

"Correct," Cross looked mildly pleased that his gruesome lesson had stuck.

"Why is messy advantageous?" Grace asked.

"Because killin' people is onerous business, sugar. Their amigos want revenge. Cops eventually show up asking piss-ant questions. It's a pain in the ass. Best way to fuckin' eschew killin' people is to rip the ones you _do_ kill into curly fries. Ribbons of guts everywhere gives upstart assholes looking for a fight somethin' to consider."

"Huh," Grace said noncommittally.

"Just a pearl of wisdom, should you ever segueway into the criminal element, sweetheart."

"Thanks for the tip, but Cross? Can you please stick to 'Grace' for me?" she admonished slightly.

Cross gave her a deep, obviously phony chastened look. "Pardon my over-familiarities, Grace."

"Defrane?" Rigsby tapped the chosen file.

"Ah," Cross drew his shoulders back, turning from Grace and facing them both evenly. "Defrane. As I said, shot him point-blank in '97. Near Bakersfield. Left him spread eagled in a dirt road intersection. Burned his truck for good measure. I assume you found a piece of charcoal that fits that description?"

"They did," Rigsby confirmed.

"Well, there you go." Cross lifted his hands in a 'finito' gesture.

"Why did you kill him?" Grace asked.

"I'm afraid that's all you're going to get on Wild Bill, honey."

"Grace," she corrected, "and why?"

"Never you mind why. Just take down what I said and add his murder to my tab."

Rigsby sat back. "I'm afraid we can't admit your confession unless you give us motive."

Cross barked a laugh. "Horseshit. I'll give you every last detail of his miserable end. Shit no one else could ever know. But my reasons are my own. Let it lie."

"Please," Grace said, "it's important we know what happened."

"No," Cross disagreed, "it's _satisfying_ to know what happened, not essential. I shot Wild Bill Defrane and left his sorry ass in blood-soaked dirt as a warning to others like a farmer would with a coyote skin on a fence. We're done with that bastard now." He pushed Defrane's file back in line with the others. "Clear, honey?"

Grace didn't bother to rebuke him this time. She turned to Rigsby, waiting for her superior's call.

Rigsby and Cross regarded each other closely. The room was so silent that the tick of the clock on the wall could be heard. She felt Rigsby struggling to let it drop, the gears grinding hard in his head, as if being forced to change direction. Finally, he exhaled loudly and his annoyance seemed to lift. "Fine," he said at last. "We'll take your confession as is for William Defrane." He reached out and removed the file from the line, sliding back into the briefcase on the floor. He sat up straight again and gave a hard tap on each of the three files remaining. "Who's next?"

Cross was silent. Slowly, he tilted his head back and yawned so deeply that Grace was once again put in mind of a lion, his huge jaws stretching wide. He resettled as best he could on his chair, making a point of looking uncomfortable. At last he spoke.

"Grace? Darlin', would you mind going out and getting me a coffee? I didn't sleep much last night and all this disclosure is draining me. Be a dear?"

Again, Grace looked to Rigsby. She knew it was a flimsy excuse for Cross to be alone with his son, but she figured that Rigsby might also have some things to say that were best said between the two of them. If this were _her_ father, she'd certainly want to air some laundry. She awaited his decision.

He cocked his head at her and nodded. "Go ahead, Grace."

She rose from her seat and looked at Cross. "How do you take it?"

Rigsby surprised her by answering. "Black, two sugars."

Cross, mildly amused, replied, "You really _do_ remember everything, don'tchu?"

Rigsby didn't answer and Grace gave a nod. "All right. Be back in a bit."

She walked out and the two men were left alone.

They sat.

They stared.

Alone for the first time in 23 years, words made no appearance between them.

Rigsby, for one, merely slipped back into his old method of dealing with the man before him. Unlike Grace, he felt no pressure of speech. He went mute. The power of refusing to speak insulated him and made him feel secure, as it had for two whole years of his life. His own little ocean of hush. It welcomed him back as though he'd never left it.

Cross, an old timer comfortable with hours and sometimes days of silence, save for the Harley engine, sat as still and as stoic as his son.

The tick of the small, plastic clock amplified to the echoing thwack of its bell tower cousins. A chair creaked slightly.

The silence held.

Finally, whatever reason Cross has asked Grace to leave forced him to break the silence. Were it not for her imminent return, the two of them would probably have sat in stone silence for days.

"She's a beautiful girl."

Rigsby said nothing. He didn't move a muscle.

"She reminds me of me."

"Shut up." Two words only.

Cross smirked softly. "Just like you remind me of Sarah."

"I said shut up. We're nothing like either of you."

" 's that so?"

"Damn straight, that's so."

"I see," Cross appraised him closely. "So, you wouldn't throw everything away for that woman? You wouldn't give up your life, your career? You wouldn't follow her to the ends of the earth? You wouldn't offer yourself to her in every way, even it meant despair and pain like you've never felt in your life?" He paused in his description of Sarah. He paused in his description of his son. "You wouldn't die an early death if it meant spending every day with her?"

Rigsby inhaled sharply, angry that he'd emerged from his ocean, throwing himself headlong into it again and diving deep into the stillness. He tried to bury Cross's words in it. He tried to chain them up and sink them, never to buoy to the surface again. But like air bubbles, the words slipped through his fingers and rose up, floating between them. He was forced to process them.

Rigbsy was all of those things. As he'd told her many times, Grace owned him. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her. Nothing. But the idea that he was bound to her with the same pathetic devotion that Sarah had been to Cross filled him with revulsion. The things Sarah had sacrificed. The abuse and neglect she bore with no complaints. The child she exposed to the same treatment. He suddenly felt sick.

"I love an angel," he choked softly. "Sarah loved a monster."

Cross nodded slowly. "That only means you made a wiser choice. But the fact remains that Grace could cut your balls off and you would ask for more. Screaming in pain, perhaps, but asking for more. It speaks well for Grace, being an angel and all, that she wouldn't. But how does it speak for _you_?"

"You don't know me," Rigsby whispered hotly, tears building just behind his eyes. "You don't know _her_."

"I know all I need to just by lookin' at you, son. You grew up big, like me. But you grew up soft, like Sarah. All that beef on you, and all you could do was hand that woman your leash and pray she didn't destroy your…what did she call it…your purity?"

A single tear fell from Rigsby's eye. He cursed it and refused to blink, knowing it would only dislodge more of them. But not blinking only caused them to gather with more force to combat the dry air. Another fell. And another. He fumed at his own weakness. Cross still sat, leaning back and watching him with an air of pitying disinterest. One of Rigsby's tears fell from his face and onto his right hand. His right hand, on his thigh. Next to his gun holster.

In an instant, Rigsby felt an insane, exhilarating answer building up inside him. A way to end all of this. To make all of these horrible words just stop. A loud bang, a slight mess, then it would be over.

He wasn't thinking about Grace. About the job. About his loyalty to justice. They'd been pushed out, and like an upsurge of magma, rage boiled to the surface and destroyed all other considerations.

Shoot Cross. Just kill him. Bang bang, hush hush. No more words. No more worries about him killing people. Killing happiness. All he had to do was snap the leather case open and draw. It would be so, so easy.

The soft click of the door startled him and he swung quickly towards the sound. Grace stood in the frame, two cups of coffee in her hand, looking on with innocent curiosity.

"I thought you'd want one too. What did I miss?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

In the end, Grace had to watch the tape to find out what happened.

After she'd walked in with the mens' coffee and found Rigsby looking at her wildly with pain and confusion, he'd shot to his feet and torn out of the room, almost knocking the coffee from her hands as he fled passed her.

"Wayne!" she called after him, but he was already taking off down the hall.

She rounded on Cross. "What the fuck did you do?" she spat in a low voice.

Cross held his hands out in total innocence. "We were just talking. Made an observation or two, that's all."

She set the coffee on the table and immediately turned back towards the door. "Don't move, Cross. I'm going after him."

"Oh, leave him," he gruffed. "He'll settle down once he's had a good tantrum."

Grace turned, shocked at his glib attitude. Furious, she struck out at his only known weakness. "And if he's taking it out on your fucking bike? Should I just let him tucker himself out beating the shit out of it?"

Cross instantly lost his smirk. "What?"

"It's in impound here at the station," she paused. Screw it, she wanted to anger him for hurting her baby. "We took it out yesterday. He fucked me so hard in that seat that we nearly broke it in half."

"Fuckin' Christ," he uttered in disgusted annoyance. "You had no right to _touch _that bike."

Grace snorted bitterly. "And suddenly you're worried about what's right," Grace said acidly. "I'm going to find him. When I come back, you and I are ending this."

She stomped out the door and took off down the hall.

She'd been right. He hadn't gone far. She found him behind the building with a tire iron. The Harley's chrome was bludgeoned and rent. The headlight was smashed. The leather seating torn open. He roared as he pulled back, his back muscles rippling angrily as his arm arced down and smashed into the speedometer, destroying the face.

Her heart broke and she ran to him. Without thinking, she threw herself between him and the bike, her hands splayed wide over his chest. "Stop," she ordered softly. Calmly.

He froze mid-swing and dropped the iron, his expression moving from rage to terror at her sudden appearance. "Just stop," she whispered softly. Her hands slid around his ribcage to his back and she held him to her gently. His breathing was so harsh and ragged that she had a hard time keeping her grip light as it pushed her back and forth.

"Sssshhhhh," she cooed quietly, her eyes falling shut as she listened to his heart hammering madly under her ear. Sweet Jesus, he felt and looked crazed. She knew it was risky to approach him in this state, but she didn't care. Cross had hurt him. Again. And she wasn't having it. She relaxed completely and folded his shuddering body in her arms. So what if she got knocked down in the fury? She wasn't letting Wayne suffer one more second without someone to hold. That asshole upstairs may have thrown away the human equivalent of the Hope Diamond, but she knew a treasure when she had one. She rubbed his shoulder blades softly and continued to murmur and shush. She felt warm drops falling into her hair and knew he was crying above her. She lifted her head and moved to wipe them away.

Her voice was firm. "Whatever he said to you, he's wrong. _You know that_."

Rigsby said nothing, merely shook his head as he lowered it, his eyes falling to the ground. Her hands, wet with his tears, cupped his cheeks and made him look at her.

"What happened, Wayne?"

His face only crumpled harder as he bit his lips. More tears filled his eyes and made them shimmer before her. She ached at his silence. He wasn't going to talk, she realized. Not even to her.

She hugged him even harder, burying her face in his shirt. "Okay," she soothed. "You don't have to. It's okay."

His arms, limp at his side this whole time, rose timidly and encircled her back. She nodded in encouragement against him. "There you go. I'm here, baby. I'm here. I've got you."

After a few minutes of just standing and holding each other, Grace was able to lead him away. She took him back inside and asked the receptionist if there was a place for him to lie down. She explained he'd exhausted himself questioning their suspect.

"Sure," the woman said. "Right through there." She pointed out an empty room filled with single cots for cops to rest in. Grace pulled her aside.

"You guys keep any sedatives? Valium or something?" The woman gave her a concerned look before turning her gaze to Rigsby. What she saw in the raw and broken man removed her doubt. "I'll grab something for him."

Grace led him inside and laid him down on one of the cots in the corner. He followed lifelessly, settling on his back and staring at her with listless eyes. She pulled a chair up next to him and stroked his face.

"I want you to sleep," she told him softly. "I want you to take this pill," she lifted it up, "and just sleep. I'm going to deal with Cross, and then I'll come back for you."

Her last sentence had an immediate effect. His face snapped in panic and he grabbed her wrist. Hard. She instantly put her other hand over his grip. She shushed his fear and smiled tightly. "He can't hurt me," she assured him. "I won't leave you for long, I promise." She slid to her knees at his side and gave him an awkward hug across his chest, her head tucked next to his. "He's wrong," she whispered again. "You are perfect. You're everything that's good in this world and I need you. Okay? Don't let this beat you." She lifted her head and held out the pill. "Take it."

He obediently took the pill with a limp hand and tossed it into his mouth, swallowing thickly, forcing it down. His sad eyes never left her.

Grace felt a protective anger unlike anything she'd ever experienced rise up and fill her chest. Leaving his side felt impossible, as impossible as leaving an arm or leg behind. A heart behind. It ripped at her painfully as she slowly pulled away. She kissed him softly as she did so.

"Stay here," she smiled thinly. "Wait for me."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She entered through the observation room and took a number a deep breaths, watching Cross the whole time through the glass, before she calmed down. He looked perfectly unaffected, sitting quietly, waiting for her to come back or for an officer to take haul him into his cell. His face told her that he couldn't care less which of the two occurred. She seethed at his indifference.

God. Damn. Him.

She whirled and rewound the interview tape, stopping just as she saw herself stand up and leave the table. She hit play.

She listened.

As Rigsby leapt from the table at her reappearance, she hit stop.

The angle of the camera was level with the table. The mens' lower bodies were clearly visible.

As Cross taunted him about Grace having the power to destroy him, Wayne's hand twitching towards his weapon could be seen.

_Oh, sweet God in Heaven_, Grace thought dejectedly. He'd wanted to kill Cross. Actually shoot him, right there in the LAPD station. Her head fell into her hands and she moaned softly to herself. What if she hadn't walked in at that precise moment? Would he have done it? Could he really shot his father, cuffed to a table and helpless? She pressed both hands together and gave a rushed, sincere prayer of gratitude to her God for His providence. She let out a shaky breath and looked through the two-way mirror again.

_What do I do now_? she asked Him. _How can I beat him alone?_

That man. That God-forsaken, despicable man. Watching him, she berated herself for ever imagining that she'd seen a glimpse of him in his son. The depths of his bored cruelty was breathtaking. He'd thrown Rigsby's dead mother in his face with the same levity as people throw paper airplanes. He'd insinuated that he was weak. Powerless. Enslaved.

She smacked the wall lightly with her fist. Cross, for all his cruelty, was right. Rigsby had willingly enslaved himself to her. Rigsby had told her as much. But Cross was dead wrong about _her_. She was nothing like him. If she understood him correctly, he was suggesting that she deigned to accept Rigsby's complete servitude. That she expected his surrendered soul. That she, like Cross, took complete ownership of it, but that she, like Cross, did not reciprocate or even respect this complete devotion.

There, Cross had seriously overstepped his understanding of them.

For just as surely as she owned Rigsby, Rigsby owned her. Their souls were locked together, their bodies bound by the ancient recognition of lifelong mates. She held him with no leash, only her arms. He offered nothing that she didn't return in full. And what he offered to her was everything. She felt much more than respect for this, she felt humbled and awed to an almost hallowed degree.

A strange, calm power sifted into her veins and quieted her anger. She suddenly felt peaceful. Righteous. The man in the other room, for all of his hard-won wisdom in a world that didn't forgive error, didn't understand love. He was a stranger to reciprocity. Like a wolf, he understood leadership, pack mentality, possessiveness and ownership. But not love. For him, it was merely a recessive trait, like green eyes and blonde hair, not in his own makeup but passable to his children.

And he had made Wayne.

She was grateful for that.

This new sliver of understanding centered her. Stilled her. She felt ready. She opened the door and the last barrier between them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Detweiler, Sanchez and Croydon. Continue with whomever you wish." She sat across from him, her eyes a sea of calm.

"What did he do to my bike?"

"Smashed it with a tire iron," she answered.

"Sonofabitch! I'll break his sniveling goddamn jaw."

"You hurt him. Now he's hurt you. You're Even Steven, Cross. Continue, please."

"Not until the LAPD assures me that it'll get fixed. On their dime."

"No," she answered simply.

His eyes were dangerously narrow. " 'scuse me, honey?"

"You've confessed to three murders as it is. With your priors, you'll never ride again, Cross. The bike will go to Rigsby or end up at a police auction anyway. This is the end of the line," she paused. "Just like you knew it would be."

He said nothing as she continued.

"I can only guess why you allowed yourself to be brought in. Or why you've asked for Wayne. If I had to, I'd say that you're getting old. You're tired. Your rivals are getting younger. It's not like the old days anymore. So maybe this is your retirement plan. Make a deal with the state and live out the rest of your days in Q. But before that, you want to meet the man who shares your blood, but who chose a different path. You want to flatter yourself, see if you can make out any resemblance. But you don't. You can't, I should say. And this disappoints you. You don't see yourself in him, so you don't see anything at all."

She gazed at him flatly with a note of distant pity. "You're like a dog in that respect."

Sitting perfectly still, he now raised his brow a bit. "A dog?"

She nodded gently. "A dog. Your sight is very poor. You can only make out a few colors. When you look at Rigsby, you don't see any of the few colors you know. You only see grey. But Cross?" She leaned towards him. "That doesn't make you right about Rigsby. That only means you're a dog and can't see."

She settled back again. "Detweiler, Sanchez or Croydon?"

His gaze bored into hers. She returned it with blithe indifference and waited patiently.

"I see I'm going to have one helluva daughter-in-law one day soon," he said finally.

"You don't even have a son," she countered evenly. "Choose a name, please."

"What if I retract my agreement to confess on those last three names?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Then I thank you for your time and let them take you back to your cell, but one way or the other, Rigsby and I are leaving. Today."

"You'd leave without leaning on me harder about three unsolved murders?" he said, mildly surprised.

"I'd hand the case back to the LAPD and explain that we've exhausted all methods. They brought you in for one murder and now have three. I doubt they'll kick up much fuss over the others." She jutted her chin. "Let me be clear. I'm done fucking around here. I've drugged your son and have listened to you worry and bitch about the treatment of a goddamn _bike_. You've probably seen your son for the last time and your biggest concern is your ride." She drew a tired breath. "Rigsby's gone. You can't play with him now. You only have me, and since you only mean one thing to me, I'd suggest you either give me what I want or stop wasting my time."

He continued to stare, considering her carefully.

No anger met his gaze as she returned it, she simply waited for his decision.

"I still say you're like me," he said at last, smirking with admiration.

"Names."

"All right, fine, brassy woman. Jesus." He leaned back and made a genuine effort to get comfortable. He tipped his head up and smiled. A snake basking happily in the sun.

"I'll start with Detweiler."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"Iggy Detweiler," Grace stated clearly for the record. "Murdered June 6th, 2001. Please," she swept her hands open, "go ahead."

"Well," Cross began, "I hate to disappoint you once again with a lackluster killing, sugar, but this one isn't very dramatic either. I killed Iggy up north in Eureka. We were in his trailer when it happened. Funny as it sounds, I didn't really mean to pop him."

"It was accidental?"

Cross laughed kindly. "I garroted him with bailing wire. Accidental is a stretch. No," he shook his head, "I meant to hurt him, no doubt, but his throat gave way easier than I'd anticipated."

Grace nodded. "Is it too much to hope for that you'll explain why?"

"As I said, it was lackluster. We got into an argument. Started throwing punches. Before I knew it, I'd nearly sawed his head off." His hands fisted and pulled upward, mimicking a garrote hold. "I can't even remember what we were cussin' over."

"I need more, sir. All of these facts were available to the public," Grace said.

"Fine," he shrugged. "Not that I read anything about it. Why would I need to? But you need more, fair enough." He tapped his index finger. "I felt bad about Iggy. After I killed him, I laid him on his back and crossed his arms. He was Catholic. I didn't want to disrespect him anymore than I already had. I took a cross from the wall and put it in his hands." He paused. "Was that made public?"

She shook her head. "No, it wasn't. You're right, that's exactly how they found him."

He nodded. "Of course it was. So," he cocked his head, "I guess it's time for Sanchez."

Grace nodded. Cross sighed. Something in the tired sound made her wonder if this murder had been particularly unpleasant for him.

"Pedro was a loan shark. Nasty little piece of business, lemme tell you. Worked just stateside of Tiajuana. A friend of mine was into him deep. The vig alone was killing him and he couldn't keep his head above the debt. He asked me to go talk to Sanchez, maybe see if we could work somethin' out. Somethin' everyone could live with."

"And did you? Work something out?" asked Grace.

"I did, but it wasn't somethin' that Pedro would live with." He smiled sardonically. "I went to see him. He proved…implacable on the subject. He also proved disrespectful as fuck. I stabbed him twice in the chest with a KA-BAR knife and raided his place. I took every dime that I found of his ill-gotten stash and left the door wide open on my way out."

"The color of his carpeting?"

"The most god-awful salmon pink you ever saw. I swear to Christ, Mexicans have the fruitiest sense of interior décor. Eye poison, that carpet."

Grace cracked a small smile despite herself. The carpet had indeed been pink, another fact the killer would know. "And Cody Croydon?" she pressed quietly.

His smile dropped and his face turned to stone. "One of mine," he said flatly.

"Family?" Grace asked, not quite understanding.

"More than that," he shook his head, "he was on my closest men. Been in my gang for as long as there's been one."

Grace spread her fingers wide over Croydon's file under her hands. The details within it had made her sick. Of all of Cross's murders, this one had stood out as his bloodiest, most terrifying work. "What happened on December 18th, 1983?"

"You need to understand." For the first time since she'd met him, Cross tried to touch Grace. He reached across the table for her hand but his chains brought him up short. The metal links clinked together and his hand dropped to the center of the table. He didn't seem to notice as his mouth worked against the words. He didn't realize he'd even reached out.

"Cody was like blood. More. I trusted him with everything. Everyone knew that if I bit it, Cody was next in line as leader. I consulted him on fuckin' everything. He helped organize every score. His cut was more than most. He was my only lieutenant and closer than a brother."

Cross was getting more and more agitated. Grace breathed slowly, not wanting to upset him, but wanting details.

"Cross, why did you kill Cody Croydon?"

Cross gazed across the table and chilled her very blood. "I found out he liked kids." He hissed furiously. "Little kids."

Silence.

Grace processed. She quickly did the math. 1983.

_No._

Panic rose up, so fast that she could only ask with one word.

"Wayne?" Her voice was nothing but a terrified whisper.

His head gave a caustic shake. "I made damn sure he never had the pleasure."

Grace closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. Her head dropped as she fought her gorge from rising. Five. Wayne would have been five years old. A year before Cross nearly beat him to death. Three years before Child Services took him away. He would have known Croydon. As Cross's right hand, Wayne would have been in constant contact with him. She tasted bile at the back of her throat.

"You're sure?" she asked, quivering.

He nodded gravely. "He lost two kidneys and both testicles and still swore he never touched him. I spilled his guts like mariner's rope and he died screaming that Wayne was…_pure_ in that respect."

Tears welled in her eyes and she willed them not to fall. When she spoke, she was startled by her own words. "Thank you."

Cross nodded slowly. "I'm a bastard, Grace. No point in putting a fancy dress on that whore of a fact, but some things—," his arms flexed angrily, "some things in this world are fuckin' sacrosanct."

"You nearly beat him to death a year later. Where was your piety then?"

"I did," he admitted. "As I said, sugar, I'm a bastard. But even a bastard like me walks a line. Cody crossed it."

Grace licked her dry lips and shook herself, making herself focus. "Details?"

"Gutted him with the same KA-BAR as Sanchez. I tied him to a huge oak tree in El Dorado county. Used his own intestines to tie him up. Stuffed his balls in his mouth."

Grace winced inwardly. "You said you took his kidneys. They weren't at the crime scene."

He laughed with no warmth. "Sure they were, the CSI just didn't look up." He craned his head forward. "I fed them to crows. Cody and I drew quite a crowd of them as we talked. It took awhile, our discussion did." He flashed his stark, white teeth. "Did you know a flock of crows is called a murder? A murder of crows. I pointed that irony out to Cody as we chatted."

Grace fell back into her chair, completely drained. "Jesus, save us," she murmured softly.

"He's the biggest bastard of them all, sugar. You want saving? Look to yourself." He gave her a knowing look. "I know my boy does. If you're not his fuckin' salvation then I'm Mae West."

"It could have been you who saved him," she accused softly.

"Leopards and spots, honey. Leopards and spots."

"Coward," she said without venom.

"Bright red angel," he countered with a wink.

She sighed heavily, gathering the files in front of them and tossing them into the briefcase on the floor. When they were squared away, she met his gaze again. "Well," she said.

"Well," he echoed.

"What can I say, Cross? It's been a real slice." Her voice was a cocktail of fatigue, accusation and understanding.

"Ditto, and with more fuckin' sincerity, Miss Van Pelt," he chuckled playfully. "You're cute as hell. I'm glad you're with my boy."

Grace considered, then nodded. "Me too." She moved to stand up, but only ended up sitting straighter as she paused. "I guess this is goodbye."

"Guess so, pretty lady."

"Can I ask one more thing?"

"Why not."

"Defrane," she prodded one last time. "Why did you kill him? Of all the people you murdered, he wasn't a criminal. He wasn't a loan shark or a biker. Just a mechanic out of Bakersfield." She pushed as far as she could into his goodwill. "Why him?"

Cross's good humor slipped a notch. But only a notch. He appraised her, weighing her question. At length, he spoke. "For Sarah."

"Sarah?" She didn't understand.

"Sarah went to Defrane for some engine work. Her bike only needed a tune. He talked her into some heavy repairs. He nicked a fuel hose. On our way to Big Sur, leaking gas hit a spark."

"You killed Defrane for revenge? Because of an accident?"

"Because of _carelessness_, Grace. He fucked up and killed Sarah same as if he shot her. I couldn't let it stand."

Her distant pity for him welled up again. "The dead have no use for revenge, Cross. Sarah wouldn't have wanted it."

"You didn't know her."

"I know her son." She used his own comparison against him.

"_I_ wanted it," he reasoned off-handedly. "Defrane took Sarah, so I took him. I won't feign contrition over it."

She bit her lower lip, nodding sadly. "Well, thank you for telling me, at least. I think we've come full-circle."

"We have at that."

She picked up the briefcase from the floor. "Goodbye, Cross."

He nodded respectfully. "See you 'round, sugar."

She turned without another word and left.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rigsby floated through disturbed dreams, thick and cottony from the Valium. His subconscious fought half-heartedly against the wooly unease stuffing his head until, somewhere on the other side of the darkness, he felt the sweet, soft press of two lips against his own. The smell of orchards filled his nose and gently breezed through his mind, clearing away the cotton. As he slowly woke up, he kissed the lips he'd recognize anywhere, even in the murky depths of sleep.

"Grace," he murmured softly, her taste filling him with happiness and temporarily banishing the memory of his recent trauma. His chest rumbled in contentment. He felt her smile against his mouth.

"Hey, you," she whispered back.

"Where are we?" His eyes fought to open.

"We're still at the station. You ready to go home?" Her smooth cheek nuzzled gently against his.

_Home? Why home? Weren't they supposed to be working on something? Why was he asleep?_ His eyes finally recalibrated and opened clearly. He recognized the room. Grace had brought him here.

After…

He sat up suddenly, his eyes going wide and panicked. He immediately reached for Grace and pulled her from the chair next to him and into his lap, his arms locking her in place. She gasped as she was yanked across the small space and folded up into his large body, completely shielded.

"No!" he whispered hoarsely. She wasn't going in there. He wouldn't let that fucker anywhere near his angel ever again. They were done with him. They were leaving. He cupped her head protectively, burying his face in her hair. "No," he repeated desperately.

Grace couldn't help smiling softly. Staying still and relaxed, she wound her arms around his neck and shoulders. "It's okay, baby. It's all done. He gave me his confessions for the last three names. We never have to see him again."

He pulled back, horrorstruck. He took her by the shoulders and shook her gently, admonishing her. Yet, he said nothing. Now that he was fully awake, Grace feared that he was slipping into silence yet again.

She nodded gently. "I had to, Wayne. We needed his confession, but I wasn't going to let him near you again. I went in alone. We talked. He gave me what we needed. It's over." She rubbed him soothingly. "Let me take you home."

His grip didn't soften as he continued to shield her in his lap, but his eyes slid to the side as he processed what she said.

After a few seconds, she shook him softly. "You ready to go? If we sit in here any longer, the L.A. cops will get wise to us."

When he didn't move, she shook him again, leaning into his ear. "Let's go back to the hotel," she whispered, remembering something he'd said. "Let me make you whole."

She pulled back to look at him. His eyes were still wide and anxious, but he nodded slowly. Smiling, she took his hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For the first time, Grace used their second key and took him to the second hotel room that they'd never used. It was only slightly different then the room they'd be sleeping in, but it had none of their things and absolutely no memories attached to it.

It was anonymous. Mundane. Anywhere.

Perfect.

She pulled him inside and shut the door behind him. She turned to face him, instinctively putting her arms around him. "Please talk to me," she murmured against his t-shirt. "Let me hear your voice."

Above her, she heard him exhale harshly through his nose. She rubbed his sides and used the tone that never failed to get him purring and whispering lustfully to her. "Please, baby."

He let out a soft breath, one word riding quietly on it's back. "Graaace."

She looked up quickly and broke into a warm grin. "Hey," she greeted him. "_There_ you are."

He suddenly burst to life, grabbing her and hugging her with desperate ferocity. He pressed his forehead to hers, clenching his eyes shut. "I almost killed him. I wanted to. So bad. If you hadn't come in…" he couldn't finish.

She returned his hug. "I know, I saw the tape. But you didn't. And I know you wouldn't have. You're not a killer, babe. Not like him."

He shook his head in disagreement, his nose brushing hers with the movement. "I _might_ be a killer like him. I might be a slave, too…like Sarah."

She shook her head back, her nose brushing his. "You're a cop like me; you fight bad guys and kill when you have to. And Sarah…" she paused as she looked for the right thing to say, "your mom gave herself to Cross, mind, body and soul."

"She was a fool." His voice dripped with contempt.

"Maybe," she conceded.

He opened his eyes and pulled back an inch. "Is that how you see me?"

"Oh God, baby." How could she make him understand how wrong Cross was about them? She tugged him to sit on the bed, instantly crawling into his lap and settling snugly against him. "I don't know how to convince you about how precious you are to me."

"But you agree with him? That I'm just some wilted, pathetic fool? That I'll lay down and take anything you deal me?"

"You're _not _a fool," she retorted hotly. "I never thought that. Ever!"

"But I'm still whipped for you? Is that it?"

"Dammit, Wayne. Of _course_ you're whipped for me! Of _course _you're a slave! Of _course _you'd do anything for me! Of _course _you're so madly in love with me that you can't think straight!"

She knocked him flat on his back and straddled his waist aggressively. "You better be all of those things and more, because I can't be the only one! You _own_ me! I would let you hurt me! I'd follow you anywhere! And I'd sure as hell die an early death if I got to spend every day with you!"

With lightening speed, she was overpowered and flipped to her back, Rigsby looming darkly above her. He bracketed his legs over hers and pinned her wrists on either side of her head. "Don't you _ever_ say you'd let someone hurt you!"

"No," she refused angrily, her eyes flashing. "Not someone. You. You could do anything to me. You could break my heart, or my body, but I wouldn't be able to stop you. I love you too much to stop you."

"Goddammit, Grace. You're allowed to fuck me up anyway you want to, but don't _ever_ say you'll let me hurt you the way Cross hurt Sarah. Never!"

"That's my point! I'd let you. You'd let me. But we won't! We would never! We might be slaves, Wayne, but we chose kind masters."

"For chrissakes, I'm not your master."

"Not your call, baby. The only thing I own is myself, and I gave her to you ages ago."

He lowered his face to hers, the intensity in his eyes would have dizzied her if she wasn't so angry. "Mind, body and soul, Grace. They're all that I have, and they're yours. But I refuse what you're offering me."

"Then as your owner, I _order _you to take them: _my_ mind, body and soul." She fought weakly against his hold. "I fell in love with a good man. I know he'll take good care of them."

"Jesus, Grace." His head sank against hers and fell against her shoulder. A shiver passed through him and into her. "You scare me to death sometimes."

"You've scared me to death for over a year. I'd say we're square."

He released her wrists and snaked his hands into her hair to cup her head. His legs, heavy and immovable across hers, straightened out between her thighs, spreading them wide against the breadth of his hips. He pressed hard into her, wanting to be so close that their bodies were seamless. He used his hips to buck between her legs, thrusting her torso more firmly into his grip. He shuddered all around her, holding his master. His slave.

Grace mewled softly with desire. His weight and position made her squirm with need. Her hands skittered over his back and pressed at him gently, nudging at the hems of his clothes, wanting skin. "Want you," she whimpered breathlessly.

He lifted his head and kissed her hungrily. He bucked his hips into hers again and she moaned lustfully into his mouth. "Always want you," he murmured back, surfacing from their kiss before diving back in. Her fingers dove into his hair and clasped his head while her mouth opened wide, her tongue darting into his. Rigsby groaned loudly and pushed up onto his hands, preserving their kiss but lifting his weight while simultaneously getting better leverage between her legs. He bucked again, dizzy with need as the force left his body, traveled through hers, and entered his again as her mouth was driven harder against his tongue.

He felt her hands working impatiently at his fly. She popped the button and was lowering his zipper when he pulled back, standing on his knees as he grabbed his t-shirt and yanked it over his head. He felt Grace shimmy down between his legs as he did so and before he knew what was happening, he was straddling her chest with her arms wrapped around his hips, her mouth enveloping his freed erection from her trapped position beneath him.

Looking down, it was the single most erotic thing he'd ever seen. It was primitive, domineering, like he'd chased her down, pinned her and shoved his cock into her throat. But she'd created it, and now she was lifting up as much as she could and sucking him hard while looking into his eyes, love pouring from her gaze and movements. Her hands slid teasingly up and down his thighs before cupping his ass and pressing him firmly into her mouth. He felt her straining beneath him as she fought deliciously for leverage.

"No, baby," he choked out. "You've done enough. Let me make love to you."

She released him with a pop and shook her head. "Your slave wants to please you. And your master orders you to comply." She took him deep and sucked so hard her cheeks hollowed out.

Rigsby roared at the sensation and thrust hard, down into her mouth, choking her with his girth. She gasped and moaned at his ferocity, loving how sexy and violent it felt.

"No, dammit!" He pulled himself out and dismounted from her chest. She whimpered with loss and he angrily kicked his jeans and boxers off before lunging at her, ripping her shirt, shoes, jeans and panties off her meekly protesting body.

"You!" he snarled as he knelt next to the bed and yanked her by the calves so that her legs were spread on either side of him. He hiked those gorgeous stems of hers onto his shoulders and, without any warning, spread her folds wide with his thick fingers and swooped down, locking his mouth onto her clit.

Grace gasped loudly and screamed, the sudden overstimulation causing her legs to go rigid and grip his back tightly. He was a man possessed, sucking, tonguing and biting her tight little bud all at the same time. Pleasure exploded in her lower body and she nearly lifted completely off the bed as she crested and orgasmed in less than twenty seconds. She forgot all of the other occupied rooms around her as she screamed and sobbed for mercy against his devastating skill. But he was merciless.

"Your slave wants to please you," he licked her slit from end to end as he used her own words against her. "And your master is not a man to displease." He tongued her deeply, making her twitch and moan and beg.

"No more," she rasped desperately. "It's too much. I can't take it. Waaaaayne, please."

"Tough," he mocked hotly, circling her clit lazily and making her wail and thrash. He clamped his hands on her hips to still her. "This pussy is mine. And it's going to come for my mouth again. Isn't that right?"

A single finger slipped into her core and Grace jolted hard as it entered her sensitive, quivering depths. "Baby," she pleaded, her head rolling in delirium. "I can't."

"You will," he hissed at her, descending and tracing her folds with his tongue while his finger moved in slow, lazy circles. Grace cursed ever telling him that little secret. Most men believed that using their fingers meant thrusting them as hard and fast as they could. Stabbing them into the core. Very few knew that, to really please a woman, they should press it gently in a circular motion, rimming them and pressing gently into the nerves.

Wayne was a natural at it. Now he was torturing her with it. She looked down feverishly and saw his gorgeous head buried tightly between her slim thighs, his broad frame shouldering her legs. She pulled up on her elbows to get a better view. It was so erotic that she keened softly as he worked her.

His eyes lifted and met hers. "Talk to me," he murmured. "Tell me something."

She smiled through her haze. "Anything."

He lifted a fraction, his tongue moving lightly over her. "I'm gonna suck you blind and I want you to tell me the first fantasy you had about me."

"Oh, my God," she moaned softly.

"Talk," he barked lovingly at her. "I demand it." His mouth resumed its devastating, talented work while Grace shivered and trembled and tried to think.

"The first time…" she cried out as he grazed her clit with his teeth. "The first time I wanted you was during the restaurant sting. Aaaah!"

"More," he ordered, his tongue replacing his fingers inside her.

"Fuck, baby," she moaned. "You looked so good. I knew you wanted me, too. But we had to work. I couldn't…oh, god…I couldn't fuck you. So I slapped you. I loved slapping you like that. Oh, my God!"

He pulled back, not wanting her to come just yet. "Why?" he asked darkly, licking gently, keeping her in limbo. Christ, his cock was throbbing so hard it was ready to split in half. Her taste was divine. Her wetness heady. And her words were electrifying. He growled and smacked her ass gently, prodding her to continue. In the darkest, most animalistic recesses of his mind, he'd enjoyed that slap too. He wanted to hear her reasons so badly.

"Because!" she cried helplessly, writhing and bucking against his mouth, her previous pleas to stop forgotten. "I got to touch you. I felt powerful. I wanted you to react. I wanted you to grab me and punish me for hitting you, the way we both wanted you to. I wanted your hands all over me. I wanted your fingers in my mouth. I wanted your teeth in my neck. I wanted to fuck your lap. Aaaaah! Wayne, please! I need you! PLEASE!" She screamed in desperation and Rigsby couldn't take it anymore.

He leapt up from the floor, disengaging from her pussy and ripping a panicked "NO!" from his girl. He launched up onto the mattress, forcing her thighs wide beneath him as he positioned himself and drove up frantically with one thrust.

Grace screamed with her second terrifyingly intense orgasm as Rigsby pumped frantically into her clenching, rippling heat.

"This is what I wanted that day," he hissed at her fervently as she continued to shatter under him. "You slapped me and I wanted to grin like a maniac and fuck you into submission. Hear you scream my name. Feel that stinging little hand gripping my ass. Scratching my back. Pumping my cock."

Grace sobbed as her orgasm subsided and her nerves were pummeled with more achingly sweet overstimulation.

"Come in me." Her order was nothing but a breathy plea. "Fill me with you. Take me like you wanted to that day."

"Jesus, baby," he growled loudly as he lost all semblance of control at her words. "I'm taking you everyday for the rest of my life." He drove himself into her completely and roared. His back arched towards her like a bow as his body instinctively sought to imprint this perfect woman and mark her forever as his. His scent. His bites. His possessive roars. His children. They would all brand her from now on. Everyone would know this and stay clear.

His master.

His slave.

_His. _


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

The banal second hotel room was no longer just anywhere to Rigsby and Grace. It was now scored with the deep imprint of anger, relief, desire and bone-snapping sex. Two hours ago, it had meant nothing. Now, this tornado site of unwanted clothing and sweaty sheets was ingrained in both of them. Always would be.

Grace stretched lazily, her legs scissoring tautly against his while her smooth torso rubbed teasingly against his chest, her breasts pressing softly into his side. He smiled with smug satisfaction and took the opportunity to run his hands down her silky form, making her giggle and flinch as his thumbs grazed her ribs.

"Well," she yawned softly, "I think we missed the last coach outta Dodge."

"Fuck it," Rigsby gruffed. "We'll leave first thing in the morning. I'll call Lisbon tonight and bring her up to speed." He turned more fully onto his side, propping up onto his elbow and looking down at her lovingly. She smiled up at him, letting him gaze at her nude form in the dim light. His index finger traced a figure-eight pattern along the ample swells of her breasts. Her nipples drew tightly at his touch.

"You're a super hero," he said softly, his eyes following his finger. "You put one of California's baddest bad guys away for life. And you did it all on your own."

"I had you," she disagreed.

"He confessed to _you_," he reminded her. "My little green crime fighter, kicking ass and chewing bubble gum. I'm getting you a cape."

She snorted and turned into his chest shyly. "Super."

"And sexy boots."

"I already _have _sexy boots," she informed him loftily.

"Really?" he drawled lustfully, a single brow arching. His thumb caressed her lower lip. "You've been holding out on me, then. This weekend, I'm forbidding you from wearing anything except sexy shoes."

"Forbidding me, huh?" She eyed him playfully.

"Look, lady. You're the one who insisted your body was my property, so yes, I forbid everything but high heeled, sexy little numbers that click on my floor and dig into my ass. Got it?"

She giggled softly, batting her eyelashes submissively. "Yes, Wayne."

He lowered his lips to hers, "And," he growled quietly, "you're going to fuck my lap when you're wearing your boots. You can't go and tell me a fantasy like that and not give it to me. That's just plain cruel."

She nodded, nothing but demure. "Any shoes. Any position. Command me, master."

"Don't tease or you're gonna get it."

"Who's teasing?"

He hissed smilingly and kissed the corner of her mouth.

She resettled against him, sighing contentedly. After a few minutes of just stroking each other and listening to the distant traffic, Rigsby spoke. "Do you want me to ask you about it?"

Tracing the smooth, hairless lines of his chest, Grace looked up. "That's an interesting way to put it. It, meaning Cross's confession?"

He nodded, feeling her finger draw invisible sailboats and dinosaurs and pentagrams on his body.

"Do you want to know? I'm more than happy to leave everything that happened at that station…in the station."

"Like Vagas," he mused. He nodded again. "We don't have to talk about Cross, necessarily, but I told you yesterday that I'd talk to you no matter what. So, I guess I want to know if you want to talk about it. I'm willing. I don't want you to think—," he paused, looking uncertain. She waited patiently, her dinosaurs and sailboats running into each other. He continued. "You're my best friend, Grace. I don't ever want to _not_ talk to you again. I was furious with myself today. I just…the words wouldn't come. You were asking me and I just stood there and I didn't—,"

"Ssssshhhhhh." Her finger strayed from her artistry and pressed against his lips. She gave him her sappiest smile, shushing all the while. "You're my best friend, too. And if you want to talk, we'll talk. But if you don't, for whatever reason, then I get it. I'll give you the biggest hug and I'll wait. Don't force the words out before they're ready."

He smiled behind her finger and kissed it wetly. "I'm ready. Ask me anything you want."

"Fine," she said. "Law school?" Her finger went back to her masterpiece on his chest.

"Oh," he looked down, embarrassed. "You caught that, huh?"

"Seriously?" She grinned, hoping to keep it light. "You wanted to be a lawyer?"

"Okay, before you get all excited, yes. For like, twenty minutes." He gave his best stern, non-nonsense look. "I went into Pre-law before I majored in Criminology. It wasn't so much that I wanted to be a lawyer, I just wanted to be as far away from a criminal as possible. A lawyer sounded good. But," he shrugged, "it turned out that I had a better head for crimes than I did law."

"How did Cross know that?" Grace's mussed hair quivered as her head shook incredulously.

Rigsby caught a piece of it and wound it around his finger. "No idea. He shocked the hell outta me when he mentioned it."

"Huh," she muttered. "Maybe he was more prevalent in your life than you realized." She watched him play with her tress. For the millionth time, she felt like the luckiest girl on earth to have such a tactile man.

"Maybe," he said without any conviction, his eyes lost in the red strands.

"Do I get another one?" she asked.

"Fire away."

She swallowed, not quite sure how to broach an infinitely more serious and terrifying question. She chose a light tread. "When he mentioned the men he killed, you didn't recognize any of them? Besides James Archer?"

He looked thoughtful. "No. I didn't even recognize Archer until I read the nickname Diamondback in his file. He was still in Cross's gang when I left, but that was so long ago. Why?"

"You didn't recognize Cody Croydon?" Grace felt a terrible sense of dread, egging him on like this. She didn't want him to remember. She was desperate for this pedophilic sicko to be a merciful black hole in his memories. She watched his eyes slide to the side, thinking carefully.

_No_, she pleaded silently. _Please, baby. Say no._ _Tell me he never touched you. Never hurt you. Never abused you in the cruelest way possible. _

Her imagination betrayed her. She saw Croydon, made flesh from his file photo, leaning over a dark-haired boy and rattling a box of Hot Tamales at him, tempting him. But first they have to go look at something in the woods. Just the two of them. It's a secret. No one else can see. Croydon smiles sweetly. _Come on, little man. You're not afraid, are you?_ Wayne is hesitant. Sarah might get mad. _Oh, but Sarah won't mind_, he's told. _Just come into the woods_.

It would have been so easy for Croydon.

Grace squeezed her eyes tightly. _Shut up!_ she ordered her overactive brain. But it continued to think without her.

A five-year-old wouldn't have understood the heinous violation being inflicted on him, but he'd certainly remember the pain and fright behind it. Rigsby's eyes were free of that haunted, hollowed gaze that afflicted rape victims as he innocently searched his mind for that name and came up empty. Her prayer of thanks was divided between God and Cross.

She'd apologize to God later, but her gratitude to Cross for his gruesome intervention was nonnegotiable.

At last, he shook his head. "Nope, nothing. Why? Who was he? Why did Cross kill him?"

Still frightened that she might trigger a horrible repressed memory, she proceeded carefully. "He was a member of the gang. An important member. You would have been little when he died. Only five years old."

"Huh," he frowned. "No, I don't remember that at all. So why did Cross kill him? The file described some pretty nasty shit. Was he another upstart like Archer?"

_No lies_, she told herself. _Don't you dare lie to him now, Grace._

"Cross found out he was a pedophile. He tortured Croydon to find out if he'd touched you, then killed him on principle."

Rigsby's eyes narrowed sharply and he drew back several inches, looking at her skeptically. "What?"

She nodded, eyes never leaving his. "That's what he said." She placed her hand directly over his heart. "Please tell me you still don't remember him."

Her hand warmed his skin and he instantly put his hand over hers. His eyes still squinted in confusion, but—being Rigsby—he gave Grace what she wanted immediately. "No, I still don't remember. There were one or two members who never spent time with me. I can't remember their names or faces. They're just dark outlines on the road and in the camps. Croydon must have been one of them." His hand moved from his chest and went to hers, above her left breast, directly over _her_ heart. "I was _never_ touched, Grace. Not like that. I was knocked around, sure. I got punched and shouted at a lot. But no one—_no one_—ever molested me. You don't need to worry about that."

Grace turned quickly into his chest, pressing into him, their bodies perfectly aligned. She hugged him hard and gave a shivering sigh. "Then despite everything, I'm glad Cross killed him."

Rigsby put his arms under her waist and around her back. "Don't say that, baby. He had no right. And he was no better."

"I don't care," she mumbled petulantly into his shoulder. "I despise your father, but I'm grateful to him forever for killing a man who might have hurt you that way. I'm sorry, Wayne. Between a pedophile and the innocence of a little boy, I know which one _I'd _sacrifice. Cross did too. And I'm glad."

"Sweet angel," he murmured, stroking her back, hoping to calm her. He felt no gratitude towards Cross, no matter what his reasons for killing. But Grace was angrily pleased, and he couldn't help but feel loved by her display of fierce protectiveness.

"_Not_ sweet," she gruffed peevishly, getting annoyed at these men and their sugary opinions of her. Her burrowed her forehead into his throat and huffed.

Rigsby chortled and pushed her back by her shoulders, his eyes smiling. "_Wonderfully_ sweet. But I'm going to have to agree with my old man. There's a lot of spice in that sugar." He chucked her chin gently.

She couldn't keep up her annoyed pout, smiling begrudgingly at her spice-loving boyfriend. He saw her acceptance of the metaphor and leaned in to kiss her softly.

"My sugar,"

_kiss_

"my spice,"

_kiss_

"my everything nice."

He pulled her roughly against him and kissed her deeply, their tongues sliding deliciously together, exploring each other's taste and texture. Still loving how crazy it drove him, Grace pulled his tongue into her mouth and sucked lightly, swirling her own around it, mimicking fellatio and making him groan loudly. Her hand moved between them and cupped him, massaged him, as her mouth languidly fucked his.

"Still think I'm nice?" she whispered teasingly as she flattened her tongue and rippled it against his. She knew it was a rare ability and she only pulled it out when she wanted him at her complete mercy. It worked. He jumped in her palm and growled in her mouth.

"Sorry," he grunted. "You're still _everything_ nice."

She gave a breathy, feminine growl of frustration as her tongue and hand continued to caress him.

Her fingers moved behind his sack, where she pressed firmly into the soft tissue. As Rigsby gasped with pleasure, she bit his lower lip gently, rubbing tight little circles around his taint as she did. She bit with more pressure before laving her tongue over the mark, soothing it. "Still think I'm sweet?"

"Sweet as pie," he panted as his erection built rapidly under her ministrations.

She smirked at his stubbornness. Her other hand slid across his ass, kneading into the dense musculature before her fingers ran lightly up along the line of his closed thighs, tracing dangerously close to his anus.

He jerked against her and gave her vindication. "_Bad_ girl," he moaned loudly, bucking forward into her hand and back again into her fingers, his tongue battling with hers all the while.

"_Good_ boy," she answered, pleased at no longer being called sweet. "Now tell me what you want. Your deepest, darkest fantasy. Tell me. It's yours."

His eyes were screwed tight as she continued to work him, his lips pulled over his teeth in a pleasured grimace.

"On top?" she coaxed him purringly. "From behind?"

He gasped as her other hand slid forward and pumped him slowly. Grace hummed as warm steel filled her fist. She looked down to enjoy to view; his red, angry cock spilling out of her hand and pulsing hotly against her palm. She mewled with want.

"Tell me," she whispered.

"Slap me." A hoarse command.

Her head shot up. "What?"

"You heard me," he groaned loudly. "Ride me. Hard. And slap me like you did that day."

"Baby," she started, "I can't-,"

"Do it," he hissed darkly, his eyes opening and pinning her sharply. He jerked in her hands and moaned. "Please, baby. You won't hurt me."

Grace's grip lessened fractionally as she stared at his pleasure-contorted face, astonished at his request. She'd asked for his darkest fantasy. She thought she knew her man well enough to guess a scenario he'd choose. Now her ideas of dark looked like powder blue compared to what he wanted. She swallowed nervously.

"I'm scared, Wayne. I don't want you thinking about when you were little. I…I don't want to hit you." Her voice felt too small for her massive objection.

Rigsby didn't blink. His large palms engulfed her cheeks as he cupped them gently. "I'm not six anymore, baby. And no offense, but you don't have Cross's backhand. I don't want this because I'm damaged goods and only get off on pain. You _know_ that. I want it because you've slapped me before and I nearly came right there at the table. It was light." One hand dipped down to her curls, slipping in gently and caressing her clit. She stiffened and keened softly at his touch. "It was sexy. It provoked me and made me so hot that I nearly jumped you." He pinched her carefully and she her hands froze on him as she cried out. "I want it again. So I'm telling you. Ride me like you mean it and slap me. Hard."

The mutual masturbation was muddying her objections and his rough voice was enthralling and lulling her. Suddenly she was pliant and willing. She tightened her hold on him and whispered over his groan. "On your back."

"Yes, ma'am." He flipped and brought her with him. She delighted in the beautiful, hard expanse beneath her.

"Do I get to play first?" she asked sweetly. She so desperately wanted to run her hands down his glorious body. She wanted to make a chain of kisses from his forehead to his toes, just to see how many it would take. She wanted to nibble on his throat. She wanted to pull every sound and flavor from him before she fulfilled his request.

He knew this. But he denied her. "Later," he grunted. "I want you now."

"Yes, Wayne." A shy little girl voice. Her knees clamped on either side of his hips. She raised up, kneeling and spread wide over him, wanting him to look up at her as she arched and tossed her hair. She bit her lower lip, pinning him with a sensual pout as her soaking lips teased his tip. He clenched his jaw to stifle a groan and she grinned.

"Like I mean it," she echoed.

Without warning, she threw herself down, impaling herself and crying out as his width forced her legs and core to stretch wide. Her fingers sank into his chest, her nails biting down for anchorage as she bore down tightly onto his shaft and pumped her hips frantically, riding him like a bitch in heat.

"Yesssss!" Rigsby hissed to her. "I want you so fucking much. C'mon, baby. Harder! Arch your back."

She arched into him, her hips rotating and her breasts bouncing high and fast as she obeyed his command and slammed down into him with more force. Her head was thrown back, her hair bouncing time with her breasts, her body clenching and releasing him as she moved.

Rigsby was mesmorized. Grace was truly a sight to behold as she fucked him like she'd never fucked him before. Growling, he reached up and cupped her pert breasts, massaging her nipples as they moved under his fingers. She moaned in pleasure and tightened her hold on his chest.

"Graaace," he hissed darkly. She looked down, her pupils completely dilated. She kept her desperate pace. She was listening.

"Do it," he rasped.

"I can't," she keened softly.

His hands slid down her sides and gripped her hips, clutching her, making her listen.

"You can," he gruffed. "I _order _you to."

He bucked hard up into her, roughly informing her that this was not a choice.

A slim hand snaked up his chest and caressed his cheek. The same cheek she'd slapped over a year ago. "I love you," she murmured, cupping his jaw with aching tenderness.

He smiled and nodded. "Show me."

Her smile was broken up by fear and pleasure as she began to lift and sink onto him with more definitive, separate strokes. As she plunged down onto him, taking him fully and making his body sing with ecstasy, the sensation was increased tenfold as a light sting struck his cheek and snapped his head slightly to one side. She timed her slap to coincide with her fall and he gasped loudly as it ricocheted through his skull and thrilled through his nervous system. The animal in him ordered him to retaliate and fuck the responsible party. The instant gratification of already fucking her made him crazy.

"Oh, my God," he groaned.

"I'm sorry!" Grace instantly slowed her manic pace and ran her fingers soothingly over the supposedly offended area on his face.

"No!" he roared sternly. His hands clamped her hips as he bucked up frantically. "Don't stop!" he ordered, his eyes blazed lust and encouragement as he gazed up at her in wonder. "Do it again."

"No," she whispered incredulously. She fell forward, her hands propping her up on either side of his head, her nose an inch from his. The change in angle made them moan in unison. Her nipples, hard as bullets, grazed his chest and caused them both to shudder and push harder into each other.

"I'm not hitting you again." She kissed him hard, punishing his request as sweetly as two soft lips ever could. He growled lovingly against her mouth, his hands moving possessively over her smooth ribcage as she continued to thrust hard onto him.

"It felt amazing," he rasped. "Please, Grace. It didn't hurt. It made me ever crazier for you." He smiled in amazement. "Only you could make that possible; making me want you more." He tipped her chin up and bit hungrily at her soft throat. "Didn't it make you feel good? Powerful?" he whispered against her pulse.

Grace mewled softly. Her fantasy come true. She'd slapped him. Just like before. Now she was fucking him. Wayne planted firmly between her legs and thrusting wildly. His hands all over her. His teeth in her throat. The tingling hadn't even left her palm and it filled her with terrifying excitement. Her heart was racing with exhilaration.

Damn right. She felt powerful.

"Do it again, baby." He picked her up and rammed her down so hard that she screamed her delight. "Harder."

She propelled herself back into a sitting position. Her eyes bore down into his. "I love you," she repeated. Her left hand lifted this time. Rigsby was rewarded with a sense of symmetry as well as stinging joy as Grace slapped his right cheek. Harder, as he had asked. Rigsby howled with pleasure, his hands shooting out and gripping her waist as his body jolted with intense electricity from the tingles left by her hand.

"Again!" he roared.

Another sting delivered along with another breathy declaration of love. His head snapped to one side and instantly righted. Christ, it felt amazing. His whole body was on fire with sex and buzzing from the contact against his cheek. Grace fell forward again, her weight on her elbows as she held his face in her hands. "I'm coming," she whispered almost apologetically. Her eyes searched his pleadingly, desperate to know he was okay before the waves of bliss overtook her. He snarled with animalistic pleasure and kissed her deeply. "My angel," he rumbled darkly, "thank you."

She screamed. Her pussy tightened ruthlessly around him and squeezed until he had no choice but to follow her. As he crested, he clenched his eyes tight and roared loudly, wanting to badly to voice his final request but not having the time or breath to complete it.

But his angel already knew.

As pleasure spiked to an almost unbearable degree and he went rigid and screaming underneath her, she slapped him for the fourth and final time. The sting detonated on top of an already exploding bomb and suddenly his scream froze in his lungs. Every single cell in his body OD'd on pure ecstasy. They seized, their individual jobs forgotten, and shrieked with rapture. He convulsed and bucked savagely underneath her, his lungs sputtering in shock, needing air but not caring if he inhaled or not. His body was encapsulated with bliss. For five eternal seconds, it needed absolutely nothing else.

When he shuddered his last, he found two copper eyes perched on his chest, watching him anxiously. Panting, he cupped her face and kissed her soundly. "Am I dead?" he asked dazedly.

She snorted with surprise and shook her head, smiling timidly. "No, you're very much alive, baby." She stroked his hairline fretfully. "You okay? You kinda short-circuited on me, there."

He gazed in awe at her, as if she were a supernatural being of ethereal beauty and power. "For a second," he whispered reverently, "I was made of nothing but your love. It nearly killed me, it was so exquisite. How-," he shook his head, eyes wide. "How did you _do_ that?"

She shook her head in pleased embarrassment and hid her face in his chest. "I didn't do anything," she mumbled. "Just what you asked."

Still trembling, his arms lifted to wrap around her back. He held her to him with shocked desperation, like the last man on earth who, after years of solitude, had discovered another human being. Such was his happiness. Such was his wonder.

Finally, he came back to himself enough to comfort her. Stroking her hair, he whispered, "I'm okay, sweetheart. You didn't hurt me at all. That was…that was unbelievable. Really. You are the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life. And I'm glad you trusted me enough to do it. Thank you."

She lifted her head and rested her chin on his sternum. "You're sure?" she asked, her brow raising worriedly.

He grinned. "I've never felt anything like it."

He saw the tiniest signs of relief easing into her pretty features. "Okay," she said softly. "Then I'm glad you trusted me enough to ask." Her smile thawed completely and became beautifully warm. "But!" she tapped his nose, "this is not going to become a regular thing. Understood? I'm not going to become one of those heck peckers who slaps her man around." She ran her fingers softly over his reddened cheeks.

He chuckled, pulling a sheet over them and arranging them more comfortably. "Deal," he said. "So. Now that we've indulged in some light S&M, what do you want to do about dinner?"

She joined his chuckle. "I dunno. Go back to our other room. Order some Chinese. Watch basic cable. Cuddle. How's that sound?"

"Like the best night of my life," he said with absolute sincerity.

Her chuckle morphed into a giggle as she hugged him. "Smooth talker."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

They awoke in the dark for the second time. Grace was an unwilling participant, just as before. Rigsby silently lavished adoration on her as he pressed kisses into her annoyed, pouty lips, waking her up with each pass of his mouth. They showered, dressed, packed up and checked out. They had a long drive ahead.

As Grace paid the bill, Rigsby ran next door to grab breakfast-to-go and munchies for the journey. His mind was wandering back to a certain redwood forest as he passed a twenty over the counter and waited for his change. Maybe that forest required further exploration on the way back.

He jogged back in time to watch Grace loading their SUV up with their things. His chivalry ordered him to go help her, but the art lover in him preferred to watch her lithe, graceful form as it lifted and bent over the back end, her loose hair catching the light and blazing brightly as she moved. She wore it down a lot these days. He hadn't asked, but he suspected she did it for him. He stroked and gazed at it so often that she _had_ to know how extraordinary he found it. Now it flowed around her shoulders as her slim arms lifted his duffle bag and shoved it further into the back. Rigsby sighed. She was so breathtakingly lovely. What killed him as he watched her was that she had no idea. She must have been told a thousand times by a thousand people that she was beautiful, but she shrugged them off. Almost like she didn't really believe them. Or she believed them just fine, she just didn't want the attention. He wasn't sure to this day which one was right. But he _did_ know that before they'd gotten together, he'd watched her shy away from men who called her pretty. Just like he knew that when _he _told her she was the most stunning creature on earth, she smiled and blushed with genuine pleasure. So either she didn't agree but was glad that he thought so, or she knew she was beautiful but only felt comfortable hearing it from him.

Either answer made him giddy. Both meant that his opinion mattered dearly to her.

He shook off his moony gaze and walked up to her. As she slammed the back door shut, he spun her around and pinned her to the car, leaning down and invading her lips with his. She gave a startled squeak of surprise before murmuring with happiness and pushing up into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and sighing into their kiss.

He broke away and smiled. "I love kissing you in a town where no one knows us. It's nice not to look over our shoulders every twenty minutes."

Grace hummed, toying with the short hair on the nape of his neck. "I love kissing you period. I don't give a damn about location."

He smirked. "No? So if I took you to a Kings' game in Sacramento and they put us on the Jumbotron Kiss Cam, you'd kiss me in front of thousands of people? People that might work with us?"

She looked stunned. "It's the Kiss Cam! I can't _not_ kiss you! That's like spitting on the flag. Haven't you ever read the Ten Commandments of Sporting Events? Thou shalt smooch thine neighbor when on thy Kiss Cam. That's like, number three."

He grinned from ear to ear. "Is it just coaches' daughters, or are all Iowa girls as cute as you?"

"Hey!" she poked him in the chest, her eyes narrowing with a pretend jealous glare. "As far as you're concerned, I'm the _only_ Iowa girl."

His brows wriggled in delight at her jealousy. He leaned down and bit at her jaw playfully before whispering, "Then I need to send their governor a Thank You note for exporting their hottest natural resource to me."

She pushed at him teasingly. "Get off, you. We've got a long way to go." She jingled the keys. "You want me to drive?"

He plucked them from her fingers. "Nope. I need the wheel for a while, if that's okay."

"Sure. Lemme know when you get tired," she said as she headed for the passenger's side.

"Questioning my stamina?" he asked in an insinuating tone across the hood.

"Never!" She put her hand on her heart in a solemn swear.

They buckled themselves in and took off down the interstate, heading north.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grace watched the blur of trees for the passenger seat, her forehead pressed against the window. They'd been on the road for about two hours, spending most of it in companionable silence.

As the various shades of green flew by, Grace wondered if she'd ever be able to view their mutual silences in the same way ever again. Would she always wonder, just as she was now, if it was just an ordinary lapse in conversation, or if Rigsby was actually refraining from speech. She chastised herself, knowing that he was perfectly capable of sitting quietly without actually being mute, just like everyone else. It annoyed her that she might start over-analyzing the situation. He would hate the idea of her thinking of him as different than everyone else in that respect. After all, she'd spent over a year talking with him normally. There was absolutely no reason to assume it wouldn't resume now that they were away from the catalyst.

They passed an RV on the highway. Grace tried to quickly count the state stickers on the bumper before they pushed ahead of the guy. Twenty-three states. That RV had visited twenty-three states. She was impressed and instantly a little jealous. She tried to imagine packing her suitcase and throwing it into an apartment on wheels, touring this massive country, going to rodeos, state monuments, county fairs, national museums, and kitsch tourist stops that began with World's Largest something or other.

She wasn't a hick, but at the same time, she hadn't seen much of the world. Almost none, in fact. This trip had shown her more of California than she'd seen since she moved here 18 months ago. She'd been so eager to prove herself at work, so she'd put in a lot of hours. It wasn't hard. She didn't really know anyone outside of work. She took yoga classes and did charity stuff, but she'd yet to meet anyone that she really connected with, men or women. That sometimes made her a bit sad. She'd considered taking some weekend trips, but the idea of exploring the state on her own made her feel lonely. Walking on the beaches, going wine tasting, visiting Alcatraz, exploring national parks, she'd considered doing all of them. But they all felt wasted on just her. Who would she walk with? Who would tease her about not knowing a thing about wine? Who would she take pictures with, laughing and holding the camera at arm's length?

There hadn't been anyone.

So she never went.

She turned to Rigsby. "Will you take me somewhere?"

He didn't even look over. "Absolutely. Where? Doctor's appointment or something?"

"No," she shook her head. "I mean like a trip. Will you go on a trip with me somewhere? Here in California?"

He glanced at her curiously. "Of course. Where do you want to go?"

A loose piece of string hung from her sleeve cuff. Looking down at her hands on her lap, she tugged at it distractedly. "I dunno. I was just thinking that I haven't really explored since I got here. I've only seen towns where there happens to be a dead body. But you," she looked over at him, "you've been everywhere."

Rigsby glanced over again and caught the wistful, almost sad expression on her face as she toyed with her sleeve. She suddenly looked so vulnerable.

"I'll take you anywhere, baby. Just name the place and we're there."

She smiled at that. "I don't know. Somewhere…somewhere pretty. Somewhere you and I can relax, walk around, take pictures, look up at the stars. You know," she looked at him shyly, "couple stuff."

Rigsby instantly kicked himself for being so stupid. Why hadn't he thought of this before? True, they hadn't been together all that long, but he'd known for over a year that Grace hadn't gotten out much. He knew she didn't have family or close friends within two thousand miles. And they both wanted time together where they didn't have to worry about colleagues spotting them at the movies or in restaurants. _Idiot!_ he berated himself. Did he honestly think she wanted to spend every night and weekend hiding out in their apartments? He immediately began running through destinations that were doable for a weekend away.

She loved trees.

She loved nature.

She loved sports and outdoor exercise.

She loved landscapes that looked vastly different from the Midwest.

And she loved him.

"How 'bout I take you camping? Yosemite is about four hours away from Sac. We could take off early Saturday, hike the trails, make smores, stargaze," he reached for her hand and found it already reaching for his, "and sleep all snuggled up in our tent."

He glanced over and found her beaming happily. "Really?"

Her smile was contagious. "Name the weekend, Grace, and we're gone."

His eyes back on the road, he heard an exhaled laugh. "Wayne, I adore you."

Still looking ahead, he dragged her hand to his lips and kissed it soundly. "You're my whole world, baby. We've haven't been together long, but I don't think I need to tell you that I can't live without you. I want to take you everywhere. See everything. I want a million memories of just you and me. I don't care what we're doing."

Grace felt her throat close up with emotion. "I want that, too." The hand in his turned and cupped his face. "Next weekend?"

"Done," he said. He cocked his head to one side before adding, "You sure? It'll be awkward trying to hike when you're naked and wearing high heels."

She slapped his shoulder and snickered. "Fine. The weekend after."

"Done," he repeated.

They settled into a silence that Grace didn't even think to question.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They pulled into Rigsby's apartment parking lot and parked the SUV next to his truck. Grace was stepping out when she noticed another truck parked alongside the road with a flatbed trailer attached. Whatever was on the flatbed was covered with a tarp. A man was leaning nonchalantly against the door, watching them with calm interest. He was old. About seventy-five. From Grace, he was about thirty feet away, but she could tell just by looking at him that—as old as he was—he was hard a nails. Rough jeans, steel-toed boots, heavy leather jacket, aviator sunglasses and a black bandana in his cropped, steely white hair.

He saw Grace staring and dropped his head in nod of acknowledgment.

"Wayne?" She caught his eye, then nodded towards the man.

Wayne looked towards the road, squinting towards the truck, moving unconsciously so that he blocked Grace from the stranger's view. She edged around him, wanting to know what was going on. She glanced at Rigsby and saw him lose his squint, his eyes rounding out in surprise.

"I don't believe it," he whispered.

"What?" she asked impatiently, glancing back and forth between them. "Do you know him?"

He didn't answer. As he continued to stare in shock, the stranger held his gaze patiently. Rigsby began to walk towards him and Grace quickly followed, curious as hell. They came to a stop just a few paces in front of him. For Grace, the ensuing silence as the men appraised each other felt crushing. She didn't realize that for these two, silence had been perfectly normal for two whole years.

"Joe," Rigsby breathed quietly.

The stranger's eyes were unreadable behind his reflective shades, but his mouth broke into a well-worn smile at the sound of his name. "Little man," his rasped deeply, another voice created by one too many vices. "It's been a long time."

Rigsby nodded slowly. He couldn't stop staring. His blue eyes kept blinking in surprise, like Joe was a phantom rather than a real person. Suddenly he seemed to realize that they were meeting for the first time in over twenty years, and for the first time as adults. He held out his hand. "It's good to see you, Joe."

Joe smirked kindly at the gesture, looking at the younger man's hand before shaking it. "I told him I wouldn't believe 'til I saw it, but damned if Cross wasn't right. You're his spittin' image, son."

Rigsby winced and smiled sheepishly.

Joe dropped Rigsby's hand and offered it gently to Grace. "Joe Erickson."

She smiled warmly at the man who had taken Rigsby to the hospital and called Child Services all those years ago and put her hand in his. "Grace Van Pelt. I'm so glad to meet you, Mr. Erickson."

"Joe," he said kindheartedly. "And I owe Cross another apology. He said I needed to stand in this spot and wait for an angel to appear. And that when she did, I needed to give her something." He tipped his shades down his nose and looked at her over the frames. Unlike the rest of his hardened appearance, his brown eyes were warm and thoughtful. "It appears that I didn't have to wait long."

Grace blushed and looked down smilingly at his compliment.

"Cross sent you?" Rigsby's question brought Joe's gaze back to him.

"That he did. He called me in Riverside. Told me what happened. Then asked me for a favor." He leaned back onto his truck again. "I must say, the idea of seeing you again appealed. I often wondered about you."

Rigsby looked down at the pavement. "I thought about you too, Joe. Wondered if you stayed with Cross all this time." He looked up with an embarrassed half-smile. "Wondered if you were dead."

Joe snorted softly. "I get that a lot."

They chuckled together as Joe pushed his shades back up the bridge of his nose. "Nope, death ain't got me yet. As for riding, I've been outta the game for awhile now, son. These old bones ain't what they used to be. Now I just fix bikes. Pay my taxes. Water flowers in my yard. Cross spits in disgust every time he stops by."

Rigsby eyed his truck. "Not your usual mode of transport, Joe. What happened to your hog?"

"Oh, she's still around. But like I say, young buck, I'm all worn out. And Sac is a long haul from Riverside. Besides," he jutted his chin at the flatbed, "I had baggage."

He ambled over to one of its corners and started tugging at the rope knots lashed over the tarp. "Now, I was given specific instructions, here. I was told to wait for you to come back, meet a 'bright red angel', give her a present, and head on home." He moved to the next knot.

"A present?" Grace eyed the large lump, still hidden by the tarp. "For me?"

Joe nodded without looking up. "Yes indeed. Cross said you'd understand. Something you said about it being the end of the line?"

The final knot came undone and Joe ripped the tarp away.

Rigsby and Grace stared in bewilderment.

Sitting proudly in front of them on that humble, rusty old flatbed was the most imposing, muscular, shiny, blood red bike that either of them had ever seen.

Joe chuckled at their shocked expressions. "Son? You wanna pick your chin off the ground and tell me what you're looking at?"

Rigsby's stare didn't break. "This is a Harley Davidson Road King. The biggest, meanest hog they ever made. Chopped. Jesus," he reached out to ran his finger down the chrome, "she's beautiful."

"She's yours." Joe informed conversationally.

It was enough to pull Rigsby's eyes from the beast. "No. You tell Cross to go to hell. I don't want her."

Joe gave him a tired look of understanding. "I get that," he offered, "but Cross gets that too. That's why she ain't for _you_, little man, she's for Grace."

"Me?" Her head whipped to Joe in amazement, then quickly to Rigsby. "No, Joe. Honestly, I can't take it. It's too much. Literally. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't control a bike this size."

"Well," Joe drawled softly. "Seems to me we're at an impasse. Cross won't take no for an answer, see. This bike of his has been in my garage for years, saving it for when his Low Rider gave up the ghost. Like that was ever gonna happen. But now, he won't be needing this red bitch anymore, and he sure as hell doesn't want to fund the LAPD by having her end up in a police auction. He wants someone he trusts lookin' after her. Someone," he slid his shades down again and winked at Grace, "with some spice."

Grace smiled, shaking her head. She was never, ever going to escape Rigsby or his biker acquaintances as being anything other than a sweet little spitfire. She turned back to the bike to gaze appreciatively. "The problem still stands, Joe. She's waaaaay to much car for me."

"That," Joe clipped amusedly, "can be resolved with a good teacher. Someone who knows how to handle himself." He reached out and punched Rigsby lightly on the shoulder. "Someone went through some bad shit and came out with some decent bike skills to show for it."

The two men considered each other silently. Grace, wanting to give them their time, circled the flatbed, watching as the metallic, dark red paint shimmered in the sunlight. The chrome was almost blindingly shiny. The engine size told her that when this baby ignited, it roared like a tiger. And yet it was so beautifully put together. An artist and a mechanic had a baby in chopper form. Big as she was, this bike called to Grace just as Cross's black Low Rider had, maybe more. As she ran her hand over the seat, she heard Rigsby resume their discussion.

"Tell Cross that you did as he asked," he agreed tightly. "I'll look after Grace, make sure she learns how to handle the bike. But," he pointed his finger, "if he asks, you still tell him that I said go to hell."

Joe's laugh boomed heartily and startled them both. "He gave me the exact same message for you. He's still awful sore about his baby. Jesus, son," he barked smilingly, "did you really trash it with a tire iron?"

"Damn right," Wayne answered huffily.

"Well," Joe smiled, "you're probably the only man in California who could level that bike and not get killed. Cross will bitch about that for the rest of his life, so help me."

He suddenly bent into his open truck window. "Christ! 'Fore I forget, here are the plates and registration. Bein' cops and all, I suppose you want that stuff in order." He paused as he pulled out the small bike plate and held it up.

"I think this is what some people would call serendipitous. What do you say, pretty lady?"

Grace read the tin rectangle in his hand.

REDANGL

The small California plate read. Grace raised a brow in skepticism. "Cross had that made?"

"Years ago," Joe confirmed. "Been sitting with the bike all this time. He didn't say as much, but I think meeting you tickled him pink. I think he likes the irony of you having this chopper. That Cross," he smiled wistfully, "he's a man that enjoys irony."

_A murder of crows._

Grace buried a small shiver. Yes, she could easily believe Cross enjoyed irony.

Joe turned to Rigsby and slapped him lightly on the back. "Help an old man unload this monster?"

The younger man smiled. "You bet."

The two men maneuvered the Harley off the bed and rolled it on the other side of Rigsby's truck. Once they had it in place, Joe tossed Grace the keys. "Treat her cherry," he said.

Grace nodded and said she'd do her very best.

As Joe headed back his truck, Grace called out. "Stay for dinner?"

He turned and flashed her another wink. "Extremely kind of you, sweetheart, but I need to get back on the road. My eyes," he tapped his temple, "they play tricks on me when I drive in the dark."

He turned back and climbed up into the cab. Rigsby stood on the other side as the door slammed. Joe stuck his hand out the open window. "Pleased as hell to see you again, son. You look good. Seem happy."

"I am. Thanks to you." Rigsby shook his hand with feeling. When he released it, Joe waved him off.

"Wish I'd done more, little man. You being with us was a mistake. We shoulda made Cross deal with you long before then. Ain't right, all the shit that went down."

"You did more than anyone. I'm grateful, man. I mean it." He paused. "Joe? What the hell happened? What the fuck is he doing sitting in a cell in L.A.?"

Joe sighed heavily and stared hard out the windshield. His lips pressed into a hard line. " 's hard to explain, kiddo. You live the life we chose, you're either killed quick or you die slow. Diamondback and Croydon, they lived our life and were killed quick. Your dad and me? We're what happens when you die slow. Age hits you harder. Paranoia sets in. Sleep avoids ya. The thrill of being young is nothin' but dust. Before you know it, you're an old man in a middle-aged man's body. I dunno," he shook his head thoughtfully. "Maybe James Dean had the right idea; live hard, die young, leave a beautiful corpse."

Rigsby chuckled at that. "So you think he got pinched on purpose?"

"Not so much," he pursed his lips again, "I think after a certain point, he didn't care what happened one way or the other. Prison ain't got shit on biker life, son. You of all people know that."

Rigsby reached in and put his hand on Joe's shoulder. "Thank you, Joe. Take care of yourself."

"You too, son. And more important, you take care of that little girl." He nodded at Grace, who was still circling her new bike with no small amount of awe. "Cross swore she was one in a million. I must say, I can't disagree."

Rigsby followed his gaze. "She is," he answered quietly, "and I will."

They shook hands again before Joe rolled up the window, waved to Grace, pulled out and disappeared down the road, the empty trailer bumping along behind.


	15. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Rigsby was in agony. And Grace was the culprit.

They sat on the bike in his apartment parking lot, Grace in front, Rigsby wedged tightly against her back. She was wearing a thin tank top and a gauzy skirt that stopped just above her knees. As she straddled the bike in front of him, the flowing skirt rode up completely against his waist and he just _knew_ that her cute little behind was bare and pressing up against his jeans, hidden by the fabric. She was leaning forward, innocently gripping the handles and awaiting his instruction. All he could think about was that day in the desert.

He couldn't see her expression, but he knew she was smirking. Damn his sexy little minx of a girlfriend. She knew exactly what she was doing. But she played dumb, waiting for him to take the high road and start explaining how to handle a ride this size.

He gulped and tried.

"Okay," he leaned forward into her. "This bike was made in the nineties, so you don't have to kick start it."

She shimmied against him fractionally, pretending to get more comfortable. "No kick start. Got it."

He buried a groan as more of her skirt bunched up and continued. "This model was made for long haul cruising. You could take it to the Carolinas, if you wanted to. But," he bucked into her ass just a tiny bit, "you might want to wear more protective clothing." He'd try his damnedest to make this every bit as distracting for her.

"Hmmmm," she mused openly. "Leather chaps?"

His groan escaped the checkpoints this time. "Mean little tease," he accused into her soft hair.

"I'm waiting, professor." She tossed her head imperiously.

"Fine. The important thing is balance. You topple a bike this heavy and you'll never get it upright again."

"Cuz I'm a whimpy, wittle girl with noodle arms?"

"Exactly," he nodded.

"Then maybe I'll keep the skirt," she reasoned. "If I tip over, I'll just flash some leg and get a big, strong man to help me pick it up."

His hand slid up her bare thigh under the garment in question. "Where's my bubblegum chewing ass-kicker? She'd never show skin to con men into helping her."

"How is it a con? I get automotive support, they get a cheap thrill. Seems fair to me." She looked over her shoulder pertly at him.

She felt his chest ripple with his chuckle against her back and she smiled playfully. His hand, high on her thigh, squeezed lovingly.

"Quit teasing me and pay attention."

"Yessir."

"Okay, you'll have to take a special driving test, but as long as we get enough practice in, it should be a breeze." He put the keys in the ignition. "Start her up."

Grace obediently did as she was told. The bike instantly roared to life and Grace shrieked with excitement over the deep rumble of the engine. Rigsby couldn't help but smile. Her excitement was so innocent and adorable. He leaned into her ear and called out. "Okay! I'm going to kick her loose. You use the handles to steer and accelerate. Be careful!"

She nodded and he kicked the stand out. His hands held her waist tightly while his legs stayed straight, waiting to catch them if Grace couldn't keep her steady. The parking lot was a decent size, and Rigsby was pleased from the start at her skill. Grace kept her feet steady on the pedals, her body instinctively balancing like it would on a bicycle. She understood the power in the grip and kept her touch light. She was able to take them around the lot three times, turning carefully, leaning when he leaned to redistribute the weight, and slowing down smoothly. She came to a stop and he kicked the stand out again as she killed the engine.

"Very good!" he exclaimed proudly, pulling her shoulders back into him and rubbing her arms reassuringly. "I'm impressed."

Grace beamed proudly. "Yeah, well. I rented _Easy Rider_ once. Maybe something stuck."

He snorted. "You wanna try again?"

"Nope," she chirped brightly as she suddenly dismounted, spun around, and straddled his lap in the seat. Her skirt settled all around them and Rigsby growled softly as her bare thighs slid against his jeans. She pressed her forehead against his. "The kiddie pool is fun and all," she whispered, "but I wanna jump in the deep end." She kissed him deeply, wrapping her arms and legs around him and transporting him back to their desert trist all over again.

He broke away and smirked. "Looking for a ride, little girl?" he rumbled dangerously.

She grinned. "Anywhere you're headed."

"How 'bout we take her to Yosemite? Leave the trucks, bring our backpacks, strap everything else to the sides?"

"Really?" Grace's eyes went wide with excitement. "We can do that?"

"Who says we can't?"

"Um, the DMV? Neither of us has a license for a bike. Remember?"

"Bah," Rigsby waved his hand. "I ride too well to get pulled over. And if we are, we'll just flash our badges."

"Ohmygod. Have you seen my boyfriend around anywhere? 'bout your height? Cute? Really straight arrow who's never even jaywalked?"

"What can I say?" he shrugged and grinned. "I'm a badass biker brat, remember? I don't need no steenkin' license."

"Oooooooh. Big, scary man," Grace chided.

"So?" He wagged his brows at her. "We taking Red Angel camping or what?"

"Don't call her that!" she groaned. "And yes, yes we are."

Rigsby was about to argue the point of the bike's name, but lost his words against her lips.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Two weeks later…_

"Oh, my God. I think my legs broke off somewhere near Bridal Veil Falls." Rigsby collapsed outside of their green nylon tent, sweat pouring off his brow and trickling between his t-shirt and backpack. He groaned as he shook his arms out of the straps and instantly felt cool air caress his sticky shoulders. He looked up and found Grace smiling tiredly at him, her braided hair falling on one shoulder.

She slung her own pack to the ground and landed next to him in a heap. She had a smudge of dust on her cheek. Her face was bright and flushed from their three-hour hike. Her smooth legs were folded up loosely in front of her, her khaki shorts ending mid-thigh.

"Ugh," she grunted, laying out with her head in his lap. "I'm dead. Just roll me up in a carpet and set me by the bike. You can haul me home when you're ready to leave."

He beamed at the gorgeous woman lying on his lap. "Then who will make s'mores with me tonight?" he asked in a pouting voice.

Grace smiled and threw her arm over her eyes, blocking out the sun and the puppy dog expression. "Those retired Minnesota women at the tourist information desk would be happy to keep you company. I've never seen such shameless ogling in my life. I'm surprised they didn't burn wholes in your shirt with their staring."

He ran his index finger over the velvety smooth skin of her inner forearm. "Sorry. There's only one s'mores date I want. If she's no longer among the living, I'm going home."

"Awwwwww," Grace made a cutesy sound. "Then I guess I'll try and reanimate my corpse in time for dinner."

They chuckled softly as a breeze blew through their little campsite. The valley stretched out lushly in front of them, Half Dome rising up impressively on the other side. Grace moved her arm an inch so she could gaze up at Rigsby. "Thank you so much, baby. I love being here with you."

He nodded, still gazing down at her. "This should become a regular thing for us. On weekends when we're pretty sure Lisbon won't need us, we can take Red Angel and go sightseeing." He fingered her braid, tugging lightly. "We could go to Monterey. They have the coolest aquarium there. And we can surf and swim in the ocean."

Grace lifted her arm from her eyes an inch to look at him. "Don't call her that! And I don't know how to surf."

Rigsby sighed in pretend impatience. "Fine. We'll find a threshing machine to ride. Or a corn harvester."

He grunted laughingly when her small fist hit his ribs. He reached down and pulled under her arms until her back was settled against his chest, her body between his legs. She began to protest that she was dirty and sweaty, but he put a finger to her lips and trapped her hands in his large fist to still her struggling. "Hush," was all she was told.

They sat in silence for awhile, slowly cooling off and just enjoying the sunshine. They almost never cuddled like this in such an open space. They were usually burrowed deep and safe in their apartments, making love behind closed doors and drawn curtains. The sunlight felt foreign on their snuggled bodies. The breeze felt liberating as Rigsby nuzzled his lips against her hair. The scenery made Grace murmur with contentment as she traced her nails over his forearm across her waist. Their clothes, their bike, their emotions were all so unrelated to anything in their past and profession that, just for now, they could shirk their constant worry about being caught and just…be.

The strands of her hair caught gently on his stubble as he continued to rub his cheeks against them. Without thinking, he tugged the elastic band from her braid and started unraveling the red rope. "They say it's going to get chilly tonight," he whispered.

"Mmmmm," Grace sighed softly.

"We better play it safe and zip our sleeping bags together. I can't bear the thought of you shivering and frostbitten."

"Such a gentleman," she chuckled, letting her head drop against him. "I've read somewhere that clothing can actually hinder warmth. Better to sleep naked with someone rather than sleep fully clothed alone."

"I'd say that advice applies to every situation," he smiled against her. The last of her braid fell apart in his hands and the curvy, loose pieces filled his palms.

"We could start following it now," Grace suggested. "Just to be safe."

"I have just the place," he offered gruffly.

"Not the sleeping bag in the tent?" she leaned to the side against his shoulder so she could see him.

"Nope," he shook his head, brushing his knuckles against her smooth cheek. "In fact, my plan doesn't involve sleeping bags, sleeping, or nighttime."

"What does it involve?" she raised her brows and grinned.

He kissed her forehead and tasted salt. "It involves making love with you in a beautiful place. In the sunshine."

She mewled softly and pushed her back into him more firmly. Her eyes fluttered and she whispered softly. "Show me?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mirror lake.

Rigsby drove them through the scenic back roads until they came to a body of water that was so still and clean that it perfectly reflected the landscape around it. The grass. The mountains. The sky. All were flipped upside down and shown from below. As he killed the engine and they dismounted, he heard Grace give a small huff of amazement. Walking down near the shoreline, she did what most people do when confronted with such a perfect optical illusion; she picked up a rock and threw it into the water, shattering the effect with ripple upon ripple until slowly, her interference healed without a trace, the mirror restored.

Rigsby cast his eye around the shore carefully. Yes, it was just as he remembered it. This had been an unusual stop for the Outlaws. They didn't usually go in for national parks or places of beauty unless they could sneak in unnoticed and make as much noise as they wanted. Places like this spooked them. Too many rangers. Too many campers. Bikers, by and large, are a claustrophobic bunch. They don't like other people or the normal society in which they operate. But the Outlaws had put their dislike aside and had come here once. To Mirror Lake.

Sarah had asked.

Rigsby couldn't understand for the life of him why Cross had acquiesced to her pleas to visit this place. Apparently she'd seen a postcard of it in a gas station once and had become besotted with it. Or the idea of it, at any rate. She went on and on about its beauty, its solitude, its perfect state. Cross finally agreed. The gang begrudgingly drove through the main entry like irked wedding crashers and camped at this lake. Sarah had walked straight to the edge, just like Grace, and thrown a rock.

He remembered it perfectly.

As he completed his perusal of the lake, he noted with infinite satisfaction that there were no other campers in sight. The lake was out of the way and camping season hadn't really taken off yet. Rigsby felt quite lucky that they're chosen weekend had blessed them with unseasonable warmth. They were completely alone.

As Grace stared in awe at the natural wonder in front of them, Rigsby began to undress. Once he'd stripped completely, he padded up behind her and pulled her into his chest. Wordlessly, he tugged her tee loose from her shorts and stripped her out of it. She turned in surprise, only to double it when she saw him naked.

"What are you doing?" she hissed laughingly, covering her bra up with a bare arm. "People will see us."

"What people?" he hissed back dramatically. "There's no one but us."

"There might be hikers. They might wander by while we're…busy."

He reached behind her and unhooked her bra. "Then they're going to get a show."

"Wayne-,"

"Grace," he countered and cut her off, kissing her softly as his fingers escorted her bra off her body. To deepen their kiss and simultaneously preserve her modesty, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts into his bare chest. He pulled back so that he could whisper against her lips.

"Make a new memory with me?" he asked.

She smiled. "Anything."

A press of his lips. Feather-light. "Let's go skinny dipping."

Her smile widened. "In a glacial lake?"

"I'll keep you warm," he promised.

She pulled back a little to look at him, smiling as she kicked her shoes off. She leaned down, holding his arms with one hand, as she stripped off her socks. As she stood up, she turned in his arms, facing away, as she undid her shorts and slipped them along with her panties to the ground.

Rigsby didn't have time to admire the feel of her naked body against his for long as she turned over her shoulder to grin at him playfully.

"_Onetwothreego!_"

Her words were out and she was off before he could blink. She tore across the ten feet of shore before plunging headlong into the water, screaming with shock as the frigid temperature slammed into her skin.

"_Ohmygod, it's freakin' freezing! Aaaaaaaack_!"

Rigsby grinned and raced after her, throwing himself into the lake and gasping as the air left his lungs in shock at the cold.

"_Holy fuck_!" he roared.

They pushed deeper, screeching as they splashed each other and plunged their heads underwater, rinsing the dried sweat and grit out, before resurfacing. Grace, feeling silly, dove deep and used the bottom to launch herself further into the lake, her arms slicing cleanly through the water as she took off. "Can't catch me!" she screamed, swimming with all of her might towards the center.

On land, she might have been right.

In water, she had absolutely no chance.

Rigsby heard her girlish shriek and saw her trying to make a break for it. He grinned before standing up and relaunching himself, diving headfirst, propelling his long arms and kicking his powerful legs against the water's resistance. On land, Grace might have been able to outstrip him. Her lighter frame and toned muscles gave her an excellent advantage. But here? Weight bore little relevance. Power and body length were attributes that paid in spades. He shot cleanly across the surface and caught up with her in no time.

Grace gasped when a strong arm encircled her waist and jerked her backwards. She lost her rhythm and flailed helplessly as Rigsby drew upright, dragging her tightly against his body.

"_HA_!" he crowed in triumph. He yanked her flush against him and let his hands coast down her shoulders, breasts and stomach in a possessive victory lap.

"No fair," she whined through chattering teeth.

Still holding her tight, he pushed back towards the shore until his feet came in contact with the bottom. He was mildly surprised. Despite his win, he'd been expecting more of a struggle from his catch. Instead, she lay placidly in his arms until he found his footing. She turned and, using her newfound buoyancy, wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Rigsby laughed at the sensation. In the water, he wasn't supporting her so much as wearing her.

"Where's the thrashing hellcat I just caught?" he asked as he pushed the wet locks of dark red from her face.

Her chattering teeth pulled into a smile. "Ssshe's c-cold."

Enormous goosebumps had broken out all over her body. Her nipples, hard as marbles, pressed into his chest. Her body was vibrating as chills passed through her. Rigsby immediately began to rub his hands briskly over her arms and thighs. She gave him a trembling smile.

"Won't work in th-the water."

"Do you wanna get out?" His eyes were growing concerned as he continued to rub her. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all.

"N-no!" She shook her head hard. "It'll pass. J-just hold me."

Gladly. He wrapped her up tight and held on, his hands making large circles on her back. Slowly, their bodies adjusted to the temperature and their miniscule body heat warmed the water around them fractionally and accumulated between their naked forms. In his arms, he felt her shivering ease and her grip relax. Soon she was pliant and supple, even her goosebumps disappeared.

"Feel warmer?" he asked.

She raised her head from his shoulder and nodded. "Yep. All better now."

He smiled in relief. "Good."

"So," she breathed softly, "what do skinny dippers usually do now?"

"You mean after the hypothermia?"

"Naturally. After that."

"Ummmmm," he bit his lower lip in shy suggestiveness. "I think they usually make out."

"Huh," Grace pondered. "Interesting."

"Shall we?" he asked.

"Hey," she shrugged. "When in Rome."

They grinned like fools before letting their lips settle gently against each other. Surrounding by water, it was a fantastic new experience. Leverage was no longer a problem. They could get as close as they wanted, let their hands explore every inch, and gravity didn't force them to worry about weight or balance. Grace loved having complete anchorage to his hips. She gripped him softly between her thighs and purred into his mouth as her pussy rubbed pleasantly against his pubic bone. Rigsby loved how tight and delicious her breasts felt in the cold water. Her nipples were permanently drawn tight and her flesh pressed warmly into his cool hands.

After making out like horny teenagers for several minutes, her hot little mouth pulled away from his. "Baby?" she whispered to him.

"Yeah?" He smiled warmly.

"If I ask, would you do something for me?"

"Anything. You know that." He answered without thinking.

She blushed and looked down. "Do you think you can…get…hard…in water this cold? Long enough to get inside me?"

"Baby!" he chortled with surprise.

"Well!" she grinned, looking defensive at the same time. "I don't wanna wait. You said we were going to make love, no sleeping bag, no tent, in the sunshine. I think this counts."

Despite being caught off guard, he was already responding physically to the idea. He could feel his skin heating up even more. Her lush and willing body wrapped around him so erotically. He cocked his head. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "It's freezing. We might have technical issues here."

Grace smiled wickedly. "What if I helped you out?"

Her pulled her close, his lips on her ear. "If anyone could make it happen, it's you."

He gasped when he felt a small hand slither between their bodies and cup his flaccid penis, creating a tight seal, warming him.

"Good to know," she whispered. Her other hand clasped the nape of his neck, keeping them cheek to cheek as she murmured hotly to him. She didn't have the luxury of using her mouth on him, and stroking him would introduce more cold water, so she fell back on a more mental form of stimulation. Holding him tightly, she poured silky, wicked words into his ear.

"Remember when you told me not the be the perfect woman who loves sucking your dick? Let me tell you something, baby, that is never going to happen. You have the most beautiful cock I've ever seen," she purred, feeling him grow and jerk slightly in her palm. "I plan to spend the rest of my life sucking and fucking it."

He groaned harshly against her shoulder and thrust lightly into her hand. She kissed his ear. "Just like that," she coaxed. "Get hard for me, sweetheart. I'm already wet for you. I can't wait to feel you deep inside me. Just like I can't wait to hear you moan my name. Can you imagine it? You're cold now, but how hot do you think I am?"

"So hot," he groaned stiffly. "You're always so hot."

"For you," she crooned, loosening her cupped palm to accommodate his growing length. She stroked him slightly, helping him along.

"I love that I can make you hard, just by talking to you. I love that even in freezing water, you're like a rock. Oh, God, baby." She stopped and mewled softly as she continued to stroke him. He was hard as granite now. She'd been certain he could do it, but was still shocked and how quick and how rigid he managed to get.

"Hurry," he bit out brokenly. The temperature was killing him. Her words were killing him. He needed relief. From both. Now.

She loosened the grip on him just enough to pull back, position him, and impale herself quickly onto his steely, cool shaft.

Grace gasped and sobbed in delighted shock as his cold body invaded her precious warmth. Rigsby gave a choked, angry snarl as her tight little channel barely gave him passage before it shocked his entire system with 98.6 degrees of luscious heat. Jesus, she was so, so warm. The overjoyed feeling of making love with her was increased exponentially as her body wrapped his in baking internal sunshine. He drew a ragged breath as his instincts split into two factions. Wanting the thrust madly versus wanting to stay perfectly still and bask.

His eyes nearly crossed in glorious indecision.

"Graaace," he moaned through clenched teeth. His eyes were screwed up tight as his body fought to just keep sinking inside of her. Every last cell screamed jealously for the same magnificent warmth.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered reverently. He clasped her tightly in his arms. "What does it feel like for you?"

"Cold," she whispered dazedly. "But warming up. It's amazing. I can feel exactly where you start. Where you end. But it's disappearing. It's starting to feel like you're part of me." Her eyes stared wide and shocked into his. "The rest of you is like the rest of me," she breathed. "Cold. But this?" Her inner muscles squeezed him tightly. "Us together. _Soooo _warm."

He nodded, understanding perfectly. "I don't want to move," he admitted softly.

She smiled. "Then don't."

She kissed him again. As their mouths moved in perfectly synchrony, Grace continued to tighten and relax her inner muscles around him. She barely lifted an inch, letting only his base slide out of her before engulfing him completely again. But it was enough.

Rigsby gripped her ass and helped her thrust that one single inch with more force. She sighed her approval, rotating her hips and making him groan as her movements bent him in different directions. "Yeah, like that," he rasped.

"You like this?" she asked hotly as she continue to gyrate on him.

"Fuck," he hissed softly, his head tipping back. "That is so fucking hot."

She smiled. She could tell that the cold would make orgasm for her almost impossible, but she wanted _his_ to scramble his brain when it finally came from their soft thrusts.

She kept talking dirty to him.

"_You're_ so fucking hot," she whispered, stroking his head and back. "You're boiling this lake with how hot you are. I'm so lucky to have my legs wrapped around you, watching you move inside me." She tightened her thighs around him.

"Oh, God," he panted harshly, holding her tight. "Keep talking, baby. Please."

"Oh, I will," she promised, whimpering as he grasped her hips and thrust upwards. He couldn't plunge any further, but the force of his hips felt sinfully good. "What do you want to hear?"

He thrust upwards again. "How much you love spreading your legs for me."

Any other man from her past would have been slapped for such vulgarity. For Rigsby, Grace shivered with lust and answered him. "It's what I think about every time I see you."

"Say it," he growled, pumping without withdrawing.

She arched into him and hummed sexily. "I love spreading my legs for you. Only for you. You feel so good between them that I just want to scream."

"Will you scream for me?" His voice was scraped raw with desire and unabashed curiosity.

She laughed throatily. "No. _You _scream for me. Feel how hot I am inside, just for you, and come in me. Come loud."

His hips began to jerk frantically against hers, still unwilling to leave her body, even in the cresting throes of orgasm. "Christ, I'm losing it, Grace. I'm…coming…please."

"Yessss," she hissed, wrapping herself around him tightly. "Fuck me! Come on, sweetheart. I want to see."

He squeezed her so tightly she could barely breathe. "Come for me, Wayne."

His head shot back and he screamed. His hips froze forcefully against hers as he emptied himself in a hot hush into her eager depths. Grace watched in awe as his face and chest clenched and contorted with every wave of ecstasy that battered through him. As he gasped for air, she kissed his cheek, not wanting to obstruct his mouth.

"Beautiful man," she crooned softly as she stroked his shoulders.

"Oh, my God," he choked out, still shuddering with rapidly chilling adrenaline.

She pulled back and smiled. "You're staggering. Do you know that?"

He huffed dazedly. "You've gotta be kidding. You're a stunningly gorgeous woman with a heart of gold, a sinful body and a mouth that can make a man hard in subzero temperatures and _I'm_ the staggering one?" He hugged her hard. "Sorry, lady. It's all you."

She giggled, still fastened to his hips. "Should I get off you now?"

He made a pitiful sound of unhappiness. "You're nice and warm. Don't get off. Please?"

"Aw, don't be a baby. Let's get our stuff and go back to camp before the park rangers find us floating like ice cubes in this lake." She laughed softly at a sudden thought. "Lisbon will re-kill us if they find our naked, popsicle bodies together."

"One more minute?"

She grinned evilly and threw herself backwards, disengaging from him.

"Jesus!" he roared as his heavenly sauna disappeared and cold water surrounded his softening shaft. "Mean girl!" he accused as he glared at her jokingly.

But she was already knifing across the water, stroking back to shore.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That night, they made s'mores at their campfire. They pointed out constellations to each other. They zipped their sleeping bags together and made love in the cozy warmth of their little tent. They talked in the darkness. They listened to the crickets and owls.

Grace asked smilingly if he still hated the woods.

He only chuckled and pulled her close.

_The End_

* * *

Hey guys! Thanks once again for reading! Your comments and reviews have been fantastic and they always made my day. Leave more. Seriously. They're like chocolate-covered crack. Much love to Ses, who asked for a story about one of their parents. Hope she approves.

Laters!


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